


Thanks in Advance

by Boyue



Category: South Park
Genre: Ableist Language, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Office, Derogatory Language, Explicit Language, M/M, Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-10 07:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 43,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6973021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boyue/pseuds/Boyue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At 8:51 on an overcast Wednesday morning in October, 25-year-old Stanley Marsh finally knows what love at first sight means when a specialist is sent to save his failing branch office.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PEANUT BUTTER IS NOW BANNED FROM THE OFFICE

**Author's Note:**

> Style is the main pairing with some Stenny and Kystophe. Side pairings scatter throughout.

“So I have good news and bad news,” Kenny says, carrying a box of coffee supplies into the lunchroom.

Stan stirs the last almond milk creamer into his coffee and raises a curious brow. Instead of Receptionist, Kenny should change his position title to Gossip Queen. “Oh boy. The last time you had good news, it was you tested negative for herpes.”

“Which, let’s be honest, is great news for all of us.”

“Right.” Stan scoffs, amused. “Because you jerk off in our coffee every morning.”

Kenny sniffs a new bag of Harbucks coffee and sighs exaggeratedly. “Certified fairly traded and herpes-free Colombian roast. It’s almost as good as sex.”

“God, you're disgusting.” In spite of their conversation, Stan sips his coffee. He plucks one creamer out of the pile that Kenny just restocked and shakes it. “So what's the news then? Spit it out.”

“Please, Stan, I always swallow,” Kenny replies without missing a beat, and Stan rolls his eyes so hard he can see his brain. “The good news is when you get back to your desk, you're gonna find a meeting invite from Victoria.”

In Stan’s experience and opinion, no one in the history of time and space is excited when management calls them in for a meeting. “I think you flipped the good and the bad news around. What does Victoria want with me?”

“Your team just lost its supervisor,” Kenny reminds slyly. “And you don’t have a manager either.”

“Pete’s taking a few weeks off and Wendy’s coming back soon.” Stan shakes his head and colors the coffee a lighter shade of brown with the creamer. “Besides, if anyone's gonna get promoted, it would probably be Token. Or Craig. They've been here longer.”

“But everyone likes you better.”

Stan dismisses Kenny with a shrug. Popularity has nothing to do with who’s earned it. “What’s the bad news?”

Kenny rearranges the tea bags without looking at Stan. For a jokester, his tone is atypically serious. “Rumor has it, Corporate is sending a division specialist here.”

“Shit.”

“I know. I heard things are bad, but not division specialist bad.” Kenny pours himself a cup of coffee and restarts the brewer. “Maybe you should start brushing up on your resume. I heard SPC is hiring.”

“Dude, it might not be as bad as we think.”

“I’m just giving you a head-up.” Kenny points to his headset to indicate he has a call. As he walks out to the main office, he pats Stan on the shoulder. “Good morning, it’s a beautiful day at HOE. How may I direct your call?”

Stan follows Kenny out after dumping a packet of sugar into his coffee. When he settles in and checks his emails, there is, indeed, the meeting invite Kenny forewarned him. A glance to the clock tells him he has roughly 15 minutes to mentally prepare before the 9:30 meeting. Not that there is any way for him to feel prepared. Despite what he told Kenny, he knows for a fact Corporate doesn’t send specialists out unless a branch office is doing very poorly. From what he’s heard, most offices undergo a regime change, if not shut down completely when a specialist pays a visit. The South Park branch may not be the best when it comes to performance, but Stan likes it here. He’d hate to lose all that.

At 9:25, Stan stops everything he’s doing and gets up with a swallowed sigh. He straightens his tie, runs a hand to fix his hair, and walks through the aisle of cubicles toward the staircase. Cartman leans out of his chair as Stan walks past behind him and calls out, “Dead man walking.”

Stan bumps into Bebe coming down the stairs with a box of stationery and other supplies. She bats Stan a scathing smirk. “Tell Kenny to put in an order for lube ‘cause we’re all about to get fucked in the ass.” Without giving Stan the chance to reply (not that Stan can think of anything to say), Bebe moves on down the stairs and Stan keeps going up.

Upstairs is a completely different environment. Even the air feels stiffer here. Victoria doesn’t call him into her office until 9:45. The worry lines are prominent on her face even with the make-up she caked on, though Stan thinks that’s an expected characteristic of a regional director. Mackey, the HR manager, fiddles with his pen in one of the chairs.

This is starting to feel like a death sentence than the good news Kenny misled him to believe.

“Marsh, good to see you. Please, have a seat.” Victoria places her clasped hands on her desk with a practiced smile. “We have some news. Senior management has approved to send in someone to oversee our operations for a couple months.”

“I see,” Stan says, trying to act surprised but not too suspiciously surprised.

Victoria pushes her glasses up and lies through her teeth. “It’s nothing out of the ordinary. Senior management is evaluating the branch offices and seeing where they can use improvement. The division specialist is here to increase our efficiency.”

Stan nods. He still isn’t sure how he fits into the picture.

Mackey clears his throat at Victoria’s cued glance and says, “Stanley, this is a critical time for our branch, m’kay. With Wendy on her sabbatical and Pete on medical leave, someone needs to step up and leads your team, m’kay. Management here agrees it should be you.”

To his own surprise, Stan doesn’t feel as excited about the promotion as he thinks he’s supposed to feel. The fixed smile on Victoria’s face and Mackey’s shying glance both hide an ulterior motive.

“Congratulations. As of right now, you’re officially promoted to Team Leader.” Victoria’s tone borders on a threat as she goes on, “We have a lot riding on you, Marsh, but I’m sure you won’t let us down.”

Stan doesn’t get the chance to reject the offer or ask more questions before Victoria sends both of them away to take a private phone call. Not that it matters, he guesses; from the looks of things, it’s not like he has a choice. Mackey walks out with Stan and fills him in on the rest of the details.

“Management chose you because we think you’ve earned it the most, m’kay.”

“It’s an honor,” Stan says what he’s supposed to say. “I appreciate the support.”

“Well, now, it’s more than that, m’kay. The sales department is the core of our operations so we want you to work close with the specialist. Show him how we do things here, m’kay. He’ll be here Wednesday morning. Bebe is setting up Gary’s old office for him.” Mackey walks Stan to the room that’s been left empty since its previous occupant quit. He looks at Stan with an expectant smile. “I hope you’ll get along nicely with him, m’kay, Stanley.”

“I don’t think we’ll have a problem.” Stan feels like he’s back in fourth grade and promising the teacher he’ll be nice to the new kid.

“Alright, back to work then. It’s going to be a very interesting three months, m’kay.”

As soon as Stan gets back to his desk, Kenny comes over with a party horn and blows it in his face. Stan groans and swats his hand at Kenny to make him stop. Clyde glances at them through the frosted cubicle glass then back at his screen.

“I told you it was good news,” Kenny says, sitting on a folder atop Stan’s desk. He spins the party horn, his shit-eating grin sombering up a little. “... So is it true?”

“It’s true,” Stan answers grimly, moving his mouse to wake his computer. “He’s coming Wednesday and I’m supposed to show him around.”

“It’s a guy?” Kenny slips on a curious smirk. “I call dibs if he’s hot.”

“Can you not think about your dick for once?” Stan snatches the party horn out of Kenny’s hand. “Weren’t you the one worried we’re all gonna be out of a job soon?”

“Yeah, more reason to bang him before he fires us.” Kenny winks then sashays back to his desk.

By lunch time, the only thing the floor is talking about is the division specialist and what it means for the branch. The ones who didn’t go out for lunch huddle together at the rectangular table like a group of gossipy teenagers.

“I heard he got the IT su-su-supervisor in Salt Lake fired because the guy was playing Ga-ga-ga-laga. I mean - c’mon!” Jimmy says.

Bradley nods then adds, “I heard this senior accountant in Cleveland got put on no-paid leave for two weeks because she wore a skirt he didn’t like.”

“I heard he’s the one that got Jersey shut down. 40 people lost their job because of him,” Clyde says in between bites of his tacos.

Token furrows his brows. “I thought that was because they found cocaine in the storage room.”

“I thought it was a meth lab.” Scott glances left and right for confirmation.

“Who cares what it was?” Clyde wipes his thumb over his mouth. “No one would’ve known if he didn’t rat them out. Broflovski is trouble.”

“They had drugs in the office,” Stan chimes in as he reaches for his share of the tacos. “Someone was gonna find out eventually.”

“What if he doesn’t - gah - like my hair?” Tweek, one caffeine molecule away from a heart attack, asks, standing next the coffee machine. “What if he makes me shave it? I can’t go bald. I’ll look ridiculous. Gaahhh - I’d rather get fired!”

“Aww hamburgers,” Butters mumbles nervously. “My parents are gonna be so sore with me if I get fired.”

“It’s just rumors,” Stan dismisses with a headshake. “Don’t let them get to your head.”

“Your soon-to-be bald head,” Clyde jokes and Tweek anxiously pulls his hair.

“Stan’s right,” Cartman says. Immediately Stan knows he’s up to something; Cartman never agrees with him on anything. “You guys are not focusing on the real issue here.”

“Which is?” Jason asks.

With the room’s attention on him, Cartman leans forward with a somber expression. He closes his eyes, exhales quietly, then look at the group. “I heard… he’s a ginger.”

Craig is the first one to pull back with an unimpressed face. “So?”

“So? So? Gingers have no soul, Craig!” Cartman throws a hand up like how can anyone not know that. “We’re royally fucked. And that’s not even the worst of it…”

Once again, the team waits with anticipation of Cartman’s next shocking rumor about the incoming threat. Even Stan, despite himself, looks on with curiosity.

“Gah - I can’t stand listening to this. It’s way too - much! I have to get a haircut!” Tweek grabs the full pot of coffee, spilling a few drops as he leaves.

“What, Eric? What is it?” Butters squeezes his sandwich so hard the mayo oozes out.

“I heard Kyle Broflovski…” Cartman pauses for dramatic effect. “... is a Jew.”

Stan pinches his nose bridge and groans. “Cartman, you can’t say shit like that. It’s racist.”

“Oooh noooo, Mister Team Leader.” Cartman feigns a terrified look. “Please don’t report me to HR. I promise I’ll be good and sucks your balls really nice to make up for it.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Stan can see the peeved look on Craig’s face at the mention of his newly appointed position. He expects it though it still turns his stomach. Even if he personally believes there are other people who are better suited for the job, Stan isn’t one to roll over and give up either. He’s been given the role and he’s going to work hard at it. Craig can suck his balls if he doesn’t like it.

“Is it bad that he’s a Jew?” Butters asks.

“Cartman’s full of shit,” Craig says.

“You wanna work under the regime of a soulless ginger greedy Jew, Craig? Huh? Do you?” Cartman smirks at Craig’s one-finger salute. “I didn’t think so.”

“Cartman! I’m serious. Cut that shit out,” Stan warns and gets him an eyeroll from Cartman. He turns to the team --- his team and says, “Look, guys, we’re all in this together, all right? We gotta pull ourselves together and show Corporate we’re valuable assets and fucking awesome. No one’s shutting down our office and no one’s getting fired.”

“That was lame,” Jason teases. “Did you rip that off a poster?”

“Well, I thought it was pretty cool,” Butters chirps. “I’m feelin’ pretty spirited, fellas.”

“Butters, you’re an intern. It won’t matter if you get fired,” Clyde says.

Cartman clears his throat. As the room quiets down, he looks at each of the people present one by one. “Mark my words, gentlemen. Kyle Broflovski is going to ruin our lives. I guarantee it.”

Stan rolls his eyes. Not if he can help it.

* * *

When Wednesday rolls around, Stan has done everything he can to whip the office into shape for Kyle Broflovski’s arrival. He’s 15 minutes early, hoping to get some more time for last-minute touches, but Kenny’s sly smirk tells him his plan is foiled. Broflovski has beaten him here.

“Shit! I thought he wasn’t coming in until nine,” Stan whispers with a timid glance to Harrison’s old office. Bebe is standing at the door and making conversation with the new occupant.

“Got here at 8:30 sharp. Said he wanted to get a jump start.” Kenny shoots a look at the office as well before he widens his grin at Stan. “I heard he’s a hardass but people should be talking about his sweet ass instead.”

“Dude.” Stan groans and leans on the receptionist desk. He still can’t see Kyle from this angle.

“His nose’s a little big, but sweet holy mother of God, I’d bang him.”

Stan pulls back, half amused and half disgusted. “You’d bang Jesus if you could.”

Kenny scoffs. “Um, have you seen Jesus? He’s totally shredded.”

“You know you’re going to Hell for that.”

“Already there, babe.” Kenny gestures Stan to get a move-on with a nod. “Go. Save our jobs by whatever means necessary.”

Reluctantly and not feeling any of confidence he’s been instilling in himself for the past two days, Stan drops his stuff off at his desk then wakes his computer up. All the while, he keeps an eye on the office. Bebe is blocking the view in and droning on and on. He hopes she isn't throwing everyone under the bus to save her own skin. Whatever poison she's spewing, he’ll have to undo it all later.

Seeing as how Bebe isn’t releasing Kyle from her clutch, Stan makes a pit stop for his coffee. If he’s being honest, he’s secretly very thankful for Bebe’s blabbermouth. It’s delaying the inevitable, but it’s a delay he can appreciate. Despite what he’s been telling the team, he can’t be sure Kyle isn’t going to, as Cartman said so nicely, ruin their lives. Most of them are around the same age and can probably find a new job with no problem. But for some, this paycheck is the only sense of purpose they have. He’ll be damned if he goes out without a fight.

He’s in the middle of filling his cup when footsteps walking into the lunchroom take his eyes off the coffee pot.

“Good morning.”

Stan would’ve said good morning back but he is way too distracted by the red curls tamed to perfection to frame a delicate face. He’s captivated by the bright, insightful green eyes gazing at him and the polite smile on elegant lips. The nose that Kenny says is too big is the centerpiece to the work of art that is Kyle Broflovski.

At 8:51 on an overcast Wednesday morning in October, 25-year-old Stanley Marsh finally knows what love at first sight means.

“I'm Kyle. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Oh.” Stan snaps back to reality at Kyle’s extended hand. In a stroke of genius, he hands Kyle the coffee pot instead of his own hand. Before he can undo the gesture, Kyle takes the pot with an appreciative albeit bemused smile. It’s absurd; Kyle doesn’t even have a mug with him. “Shit - Sorry.” He wipes his hand on his pants then extends to shake hands with Kyle. All the while, Kyle awkwardly holds onto the coffee pot.

“Hey there, welcome! I’m Stan. It’s good to meet you here - I mean - have you here. I’m the sales team lead. I guess we’ll be working together a lot.”

“Stan. Right. Victoria told me very good things about you.” Kyle studies him in a way that sends flutters up Stan’s spine. “I look forward to our partnership.”

“Here - let me - “ Stan reaches for the pot then stops. “Uh, would you like some coffee?”

“Oh, no, thank you. I came in for some tea, actually.” Kyle sets the pot back on the burner then leans to the side to see past Stan. “Bebe says you have some.”

Stan turns around to pick up the (only) two boxes of tea. “We do. We have the black ones and the green ones.” Kyle points and asks to have a green tea bag, and Stan suddenly pulls back like he’s playing a game of keep-away. “Here, I’ll get it for you.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary.” Kyle reaches out. “I can do it myself.”

“Don’t worry about it. Consider it… your welcome gift,” Stan jokes as he brews the tea in a paper cup for Kyle. He knows he’s smiling too eagerly when he hands the tea over. “Careful, it’s hot.”

“Thank you, I appreciate the gift.” Kyle plays along with a soft chuckle, looking nothing like the force of mass destruction people claim he is.

“Yeah, sure, if you need anything else, just let me know.” Stan shrugs casually and picks up his coffee.

“Just remember you offered,” Kyle smiles. Stan’s stomach does that thing it does when it’s nervous. The slight pause gives Stan the hint that Kyle isn't really one for small talk even though he talks more eloquently than this office requires.

“Has Bebe shown you around yet? Where everything is? Restroom and stuff?” Stan gestures vaguely behind him. “Emergency exits.”

“No, not yet, but I think I’ll manage for now. I was hoping to get settled in before all that.”

Kyle turns the tea and holds it with his fingers. Stan feels like an airhead for not doubling up on the cup. A first degree burn will really impress Corporate.

“Okay, well, when you’re ready, I’d be happy to give the grand tour,” Stan says with an enthusiastic smile. “It’s not much, but we’re pretty proud of it.”

Before Kyle can answer, Victoria busts in with an obsequious grin. “Oh, Kyle! There you are. I was looking all over for you. I see you’ve met Marsh. Good, good, are you all settled in? Come on, let's head up to my office. I’ll give you the rundown.”

Kyle nods at Victoria then turns back to Stan. “It was nice chatting, Stan.” He lifts his tea in gratitude then smiles at Stan’s “Mornings Blow” mug. “Cute mug. I have one just like that. I’ll see you in the afternoon.”

With that, Kyle follows Victoria out and leaves Stan to wallow in the afterglow of their encounter. He fixes his coffee the way he likes it and thinks, maybe it isn’t going to be so bad after all.

Throughout the day, Stan is exceptionally tuned to Kyle’s presence. He steals nosy glances whenever Kyle emerges in between his meetings with the different departments. While he can’t say he’s satisfied with the hasty glimpses, it is all he can ask for until at 2:59, he knocks on Kyle's door to announce his attendance and steps into his ex-assistant manager’s old office.

“Right on time.” The impressed smile on Kyle doesn’t go unnoticed. “Actually, I stand corrected. Stan, you’re early.”

“I can come back in one minute if that works better for you,” Stan jokes as he checks a watch he isn’t wearing.

Kyle chuckles and invites Stan to take a seat. If Kyle brought any personal items with him, they aren’t displayed yet in the barren office. In addition to the stationeries and furniture, the only other items present are a pool of white three-ring binders on the desk, some scattered paperworks, and the half-full paper cup of tea.

“How are you settling in?” Stan asks, sitting upright in the chair. “You were all over the place today. I bet you don’t need that tour anymore.”

“A tour would’ve been more relaxing,” Kyle replies with a composed smile. Stan can see his tiredness rearing its head. There’s still three hours to go before the day is over, but he has the feeling that clocking out at six isn’t an option for Kyle. “I don’t think I had the chance to appreciate the architecture and decor.”

“Hey, the offer still stands if you got a minute. I know all the good spots the other tour guides won’t show you,” Stan says.

Kyle chuckles again, dipping his head low for a moment to give a great view of his long eyelashes. “Let’s try to get this over with quickly then. Maybe I can find the time before dinner to go on that tour.” He flips open a manilla folder and scans down what looks to be Stan’s last year annual review. When he looks up again, the composed smile dwindles with professionalism. “Before we start, I want to address the misperception about my function here. I’m not here to put anyone out of a job and I’m not here to tell you how to do it either. My duty here is to assess and to assist. That’s all.”

“I understand completely,” Stan nods and can’t think of anything else to add.

“I’m glad you do,” Kyle says. He wakes his computer and looks at something Stan can’t see. “I’d like to have one-on-one meetings with everyone in your department. Can you help with that? You’re welcome to be there if that makes everyone feels more comfortable.”

Stan nods again. “I’ll set it up for tomorrow.”

“Thank you. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get started with you.” Kyle picks up the manilla folder. He turns to the next page, pauses to read something, then flips back to the first. He looks up at Stan with an intrigued gaze. “Tell me about yourself, Stan.”

Either it’s from a moment of sheer panic or maybe he thinks he’s being funny, Stan replies without thinking, “I love dogs and the Broncos.”

Stan can see Kyle making a mental note in his head. He can see it now on whatever reports Kyle has to turn in to Corporate. Stanley Marsh, Team Leader, a complete asshat. He slouches slightly, like that will make his embarrassment diminish. To his relief, Kyle chuckles in the same way that twists Stan’s guts.

“I was thinking more on the professional level,” Kyle clarifies with a suppressed smile.

Stan puts on a sheepish smile in return. “Well, uh, what do you want to know?”

“Everything.” Kyle leans back into his chair. His gaze never once wavers. “You were promoted to team leader just two days ago. Tell me why. Tell me what makes you deserved it”

Stan swallows uneasily. For once, he looks away from the man who’s captured his attention since the moment they met.

Two hours later, Stan finally comes out of Kyle’s office. Kyle regrettably declined the tour; he has dinner plan with Victoria and Garrison, the other director here, and frankly Stan grew an ulcer after that meeting. It’s astonishing how Kyle can fluncture between being perfectly courteous and blunt to a deadly point. The way he drilled Stan on his performance and his explanation on the branch’s stagnance is worse than what Wendy could have done. And Wendy, bless her soul, is the toughest HBIC Stan knows.

He rubs his face while he wakes the computer then takes his eyes off the 62 emails in his inbox (most, he can tell, are nonsense from the team) to catch Kyle walk out of his office with the paper cup in hand. He trails Kyle’s path through the floor and into the lunchroom. An over-caffeinated Tweek jitters out of the way after a nervous greeting. Once Kyle’s out of sight, Stan skims through his inbox and picks out the ones that are worth reading.

At 5:08, Kyle walks out of the lunchroom with a doubled-up cup of tea (Stan assumes it’s tea but he can’t prove it). When astute green eyes with an accompanying poised smile find their way on him, Stan does something he’s never done in the three years he worked at HOE. He agrees with something Cartman said.

Kyle Broflovski is going to ruin his life. He guarantees it.


	2. FLUSHING CONFIDENTIAL DOCUMENTS DOWN THE TOILET IS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN

Stan’s not naive enough to pretend his promotion wouldn’t come with extra workload. He just wasn't expecting there to be so much. The management was previously divvied up between Wendy, Gary, and Pete. Even after Gary left (an unfortunate event that's partially Stan’s fault), there were still two very competent people looking after their ragtag team. Now, there is only Stan, who doesn't have the managerial training nor the experience to juggle all the tasks he's expected to handle. There are so much to do and so many meetings to attend. Oh god. The incessant meetings. Why do they need to meet so damn much?

A month into his new role, Stan swears he's lost ten pounds and grown a brain tumor.

He rubs his temple and oscillates his attention between Cartman and Clyde in the conference room. A privilege of being the team lead is resolving conflicts between his team members. Even if said conflict is something as trivial as Cartman eating Clyde’s lunch and not apologizing for it. 

“If Clyde didn’t want people eating his tacos, he should’ve written his name on them,” Cartman says without any remorse. “How was I supposed to know they’re his tacos?”

“How about you don’t take people’s food without asking?” Clyde narrows his eyes.

“How about you don’t leave your stuff on the table for everyone to find?” Cartman snipes back.

“How about you both grow up and get over it?” Stan cuts in after an exasperated groan. “Guys, I really don’t have time for this.”

“So that’s it?” Clyde frowns. “You aren’t gonna do anything? This is like the second time it happened.”

Stan looks at Clyde, bewildered and helpless. “What do you want me to do, Clyde? Send Cartman home with a note to his mom? Okay, look, how about this? Cartman, buy Clyde lunch back and everybody calls it even.”

“I’m not gonna buy Clyde lunch,” Cartman says flatly.

“Fatass would probably eat it anyway,” Clyde snides.

Cartman gasps. “Did you hear that, Stan? Clyde called me a fatass. I read Mackey’s memo. That’s a hurtful and inconsiderate comment. I demand a written apology and I want him send to sensitivity training.”

“You _are_ a fatass,” Clyde says.

“Staaaan!”

“Stop!” Stan throws his hands in the air to shut both of them up. “Clyde! You can’t call Cartman a fatass! And Cartman, you asshole, stop stealing Clyde’s fucking lunch! There? Are we done?”

“You can’t call me an asshole,” Cartman says resentfully. “I want an apology, Stan.”

“Nope, we’re done,” Stan announces as he gets up. He has a laundry list of things he needs to get to and he can already see the bottomless meeting invites in his inbox. If Cartman and Clyde want to keep fighting over tacos, they can find someone else to babysit them.

Standing up as well after giving Clyde the stink eye, Cartman says, “I’d like to state on records that Stan, you’re a shitty team lead.”

“Seconded.” Clyde nods.

“And I’d like to state on records that you’re both crybabies but that would be an insult to babies everywhere.” Stan shoots them a stern glance then walks out. “Get back to work.”

“I'm not fat,” Cartman says behind him. “I'm big boned.”

As soon as Stan sits down but before he can lament the number of emails waiting for him, Craig comes over with a plastic folder and hands it to him without any explanation or details of what the file entails. The only thing Stan can see is that Craig isn’t happy answering to him.

“What is this?” Stan asks. The company name on the title page doesn't ring a bell.

“The sales contract for the new oversea account,” Craig says mechanically. He’s still holding the paperwork for Stan to take. “Victoria says to look over it and signs it.”

Stan takes the folder, much to Craig’s obvious relief, and flips through the first pages. He's too damn tired for there to be so many fine prints scattered throughout the document. “What the hell is a scause?” 

“I don’t know.” Craig exhales through his nose, miffed by the conversation he’s forced to participate in. “Sign it so I can bring it back to Victoria like the good little errand boy I am.”

Stan reads through the first paragraph then frowns. “Token does all the oversea accounts. He should take this one.”

“Victoria says you.” Craig stares pointedly at Stan, challenging him to just try to turn down the new account and see what happens. Just try. “Give it back to me when you’re done. Sometime today.”

Stan looks down at the folder once Craig leaves, like he’s afraid if he takes his eyes off it for even a second, it’ll magically vanish and he’ll have to answer to both Victoria and Craig’s wrath. He can’t shake the thought that why Victoria wants him to take the account is somehow linked to why he got promoted in the first place. The whole thing felt shady from the get-go and the compensation isn't making it very much worth his while. Seeing the unread emails in his inbox, he puts the contract at the bottom of his to-do list and focuses on something that doesn’t sour his stomach with disquiet.

The one - the only - good thing about his busy schedule is that the hours do go by very fast. He’s in the middle of drafting a revision for the terms on their sales orders when Kenny comes over and sits on his desk, his ass smothering the unsigned contract.

“So who are you doing tonight?” Kenny adjusts the hood of his frowzy orange parka then plays with the stack of post-its on Stan’s desk. 

“I’d ask if you meant ‘what’ but since it’s you, I’m not even gonna bother,” Stan says, his eyes fixed on his monitor. He’s racing against time to wrap up his work; the finish line gets further with each passing second. Fortunately, he has nothing grand planned for tonight so it’s not like he’s making anyone wait.

“Aww, you know me so well.” Kenny rips out a post-it after he doodled on it and sticks it on Stan’s back. “Fine, what are you doing then? Wanna grab a drink at Skeeter’s? Me and you?”

“Ugh, I don’t think so, dude. I still got like, 31 emails and - hey, move your ass.” Stan fishes out the contract from under Kenny’s buttcheeks and tosses it to the other side of his desk. “I gotta go over this shit and give it back to Craig.”

”Craig’s gone already,” Kenny says, doodling on a new post-it. 

“Lucky bastard,” Stan mutters. 

“I know right? It’s so unfair. Tweek’s probably blowing him right now in the parking lot.” Kenny rips the note out and turns it over for Stan to see. It’s a crude drawing of two stick figures having anal sex with “Craig” and “Tweek” written above each of their heads. Stan probably shouldn’t have snickered but hey, he’s not Kenny’s boss and he could use the laugh. “It’s just me, you. and hot ass still here.”

Stan swivels his chair to spy at Kyle’s office (he hates that he knows hot ass means Kyle). The lights are still on and Kyle is diligently clattering away on his keyboard.

“I’m gonna ask him out,” Kenny says.

“Hell no, you’re not.” Stan spins back to face Kenny immediately.

“Why not?”

“First of all, he’s not gonna say yes. Second of all, in the miraculous event where he does say yes and we gotta call the Vatican ‘cause I’m pretty sure it means it’s the second coming of Christ, you sleeping with him is the worst thing that can happen to us.”

“C’mon, look at him.” Kenny gestures to the unaware Kyle in the office. “He must be so stressed. He’s here til seven, eight sometimes. He needs to blow off some steam.” Kenny winks lasciviously and says, “By blowing me.”

“Dude. Can you not? He can hear you.” Stan grimaces. He can’t stand the idea of Kenny being with Kyle for more than one reason. “I’m serious, Kenny. You’re gonna screw things up - and don’t make a pun out of that.”

“You don’t let me have any fun.” Kenny scoots off the desk. Stan grabs him by the parka. He laughs. “Relax, man, I’m not gonna do it.” He puts his hand over Stan’s fist until Stan lets him go. “Don’t stay too late, Stan. It’s Friday.”

“If I get done early, I’ll text you, okay? See if we can still grab that drink.”

“Sure, as long as I’m not balls deep in someone.”

After Kenny leaves, Stan tears up the stick figures post-in and throws it in the trash. He reaches around and takes off the one Kenny stuck on his back. He expects to find another lewd drawing. Instead, the post-in reads “Stay strong handsome” punctuated with a smiley face. Smiling back at the note, Stan sticks it to his wall and gets back to work.

At 7:38, Stan presses Send on his last email and finally clears out his inbox. He stretches, not that it does much for the ache in his lower back, and reaches for his phone. It’s still early; he can really go for that drink if Kenny’s still free and hasn’t made other depraved plans. But knowing Kenny, he’s probably already in the middle of a said depraved plan.

“You’re still here, Stan.”

Stan stops in the middle of his text and looks up to see Kyle, coming toward him with his mug in hand. He puts down his phone and smiles. “I’m actually about to head out. You gonna be here long?”

“I’m leaving as soon as I wash my mug,” Kyle says. “I’m going to faint if I don’t eat something soon.”

“That’s why I showed you our candy stash,” Stan says, standing up to make sure Kyle isn’t going to flop over. Low blood sugar is serious business.

“There were only Snickers left when I checked. I don’t like Snickers.” Kyle scrunches his face, looking too adorable for a man who questioned the office on its staggering incompetence earlier today.

“Picky. Picky.” Stan rolls his eyes playfully. “I’ll tell Butters to stock up on M&M'S.”

“Much obliged.” Kyle lifts his mug with an appreciative smile. “I won’t keep you.”

“Eh, it’s not like I have plans.” Stan didn’t finish texting Kenny so drinks are not officially on the board.

“Oh, in that case, do you want to grab something to eat?” Kyle asks nonchalantly, unaware that Stan blinks out for a second like _he’s_ going to flop over.

He has spent considerable time with Kyle for the past weeks, walking him through daily operations and helping to implement new project ideas Kyle brought. While they are far from being BFF, Stan can feel Kyle warming up to him. During those gaps in their non-stop schedules where they run into each other, their talks are comfortable and natural. The awkward pauses when they’re out of small talk but not ready to move up to the next conversation level are gradually diminishing.

What began as a simple infatuation has burgeoned into full blown affection. There is no denying it. He likes Kyle. He likes Kyle a lot. But regardless of how he feels (and that’s not considering if Kyle even reciprocates his interest), he shouldn't. He can't. His track record in relationships is laughable at best. The last two people he was involved with are Wendy and Gary; one was forced to end and the other ended before it started. It’s probably expected of interoffice romance to end in a disaster. Even now almost a year since they broke up, the tension between Clyde and Bebe is palpable. They can’t be in the same room without popping a vein. At least for Stan, he doesn’t have to see either of the people he screwed up on.

So it really doesn’t matter if a kaleidoscope of butterflies cavorts in his stomach when Kyle looks at him like he knows he’s what Stan’s been missing his whole life but Stan just doesn’t know it yet. None of it matters. Because he’s not going to act on it.

Then again, it’s just dinner and head-over-heels or not, he has to eat. It’s not like Kyle is asking him out on a date or anything remotely close to that delusion.

“Sure,” Stan says almost too quickly. “Someone has to make sure you don’t keel over.”

“I was exaggerating, but thank you for the concern. I’ll be right back.” 

Stan packs up his stuff while Kyle disappears into the lunchroom. He groans when he spots the contract abandoned on his desk. He can, he suppose, tell Kyle that he still has a few things to wrap up and cancel dinner and hate himself later for it. Or he can, as he’s choosing to do so, shove the folder into his bag and take it home with him to read over the weekend. 

Working on his days off, what has his life come to?

The downside (correction: one of the many downsides) of a quiet town like South Park is that there is nowhere good to go. There's nothing special to eat and nothing interesting to see. Even though Kyle said he didn't mind, Stan wanted to do better than Benny’s. But that's where they end up anyway, sharing a meal at a corner table in the restaurant packed with high schoolers who only ordered coffee. 

He was worried at first over conversation topics but as it turns out, the off-hours Kyle is a separate entity from Kyle Broflovski, Division Specialist. Even the way he speaks outside of work is different. Kyle’s funny and smart (Stan knows this part already). His wry wit had Stan snorting ungraciously more than once to contain his laugh. They talked, easy and familiar, like two old friends catching up after many years. Stan told Kyle about his high school Goth phrase, and Kyle fairly talked about his Jersey days. Stan shared his dream of saving the whales with Greenpeace and Kyle reminisced his ambition to play for the Nuggets. By desserts, Stan thinks maybe the world won’t end in brimstone and fire if he asked Kyle out.

Third time, he figures, has to be the charm.

At 9:44, Stan and Kyle walk out of Benny’s together. Kyle stops briefly to give a homeless man twenty dollars and talks softly until he convinces the man to go to the local shelter. At that point, Stan decides he’ll punch himself in the face if he doesn't ask Kyle out by the end of the night. Yes, it can end terribly like his previous relationships did, but he can’t not try on the off-chance that it might work with Kyle.

The drive to the Komfort Inn takes all of seven minutes and Stan has ten different ways to go about asking if Kyle is free tomorrow. Maybe they can catch a movie. He hears the new Fast and Furious movie is good. Then after the movie, maybe they can have dinner at Cafe Monet and dessert and share a good night kiss at the overlook under a starry sky.

As soon as he pulls into an empty spot at the parking lot, he draws a blank and can’t think of anything of the pre-planned things to say. He mutedly watches Kyle unbuckle his seatbelt as a panic awakes in the pit of his stomach.

“Thanks for the ride,” Kyle says. His hand is on the door, but he hasn’t left yet. “I’d invite you in for some coffee but I don’t think I have any.”

“That’s too bad.” Stan chuckles. He clears his throat, not that there is anything needed clearing. “Um, hey, Kyle?”

“Yes?” Kyle waits, his fingers loosening from the handle. He shifts, his back to the window, and faces Stan fully. 

“I was - uh - I was wondering…”

Kyle waits patiently while Stan buys time by fiddling with the gearshift. The longer he stalls, the more his brain warns him what a bad idea this is. He was just telling Kenny a few hours ago that getting involved with Kyle is the worst thing that will happen to all of them. And yet, here he is, in his cramped used car, staring at Kyle and forgetting all the mistakes he made.

Kyle’s eyes are a flame, and Stan, a hopeless moth unable to resist his instinct to flutter ever onward to his doom. Despite the threat of incineration, Stan inches forward until there is no space left between his temptation beacon and him. Kyle lowering his lids doesn’t douse the intensity of his gaze, and when their lips collide, it sears every one of Stan’s nerve. It’s hot and it burns, but oh god, he’s never been so happy to be set ablaze.

Stan traces the remnant of the kiss with a slack tongue as he pulls away. Kyle breathes a sigh he was holding and flickers his gaze through the confined space of Stan’s car. When he settles his eyes on Stan at last, they’re warm and contained, but still manages to melt what’s left of Stan.

With a spreading smile, Kyle says, “Now I really wish I had that coffee to offer.”

Stan dibs his head from a chuckle and scratches his cheek even though it isn’t itchy. “You better stock up then.”

“Yup, grocery shopping, here I come.” 

“Maybe you can pick up those M&M’s while you’re at it.”

“Absolutely not. I’m expecting you to bring me those. I want them first thing Monday morning, Marsh.” 

Stan laughs and Kyle matches it with a smile. When they quiet down, Kyle leans over and ignites him with another kiss. Stan stills, half-lidded, and swallows a blissful sigh.

“Goodnight, Stan,” Kyle says then lets himself out of the car.

At exactly 10:00 on a chilly November Friday night, Stan is the happiest he’s been in a long, long time. He really hopes he doesn’t fuck it up.

* * *

Stan doesn’t stop at his desk before he beelines straight for Kyle’s office and drops off the promised bags of M&M’s. He averts the curious glance from Jimmy when he comes out and gets back to his desk. While he’s waiting for his computer to turn on, Craig struts over and stops him from getting up for the lunchroom.

“So I can’t help but notice that there wasn’t a signed contract on my desk this morning that I was supposed to get back on Friday,” Craig says. “What do you think could’ve happened to it?”

“God, can you be more passive aggressive? I have it here, okay?” Stan reaches into his bag and digs around for the contract he took home. When he can’t find it, he pulls the bag onto his laps and looks again. The file is nowhere in sight. “Shit…”

“Of course,” Craig says with an unsurprised stare. “What was I expecting?”

Stan did read over the contract and sign it over the weekend. He can see it in his head; it’s sitting at the breakfast table. He was looking over it again in the morning and would’ve grabbed it if Shelly didn’t start yelling at him because Sparky peed on her pillow. The scause account looks promising. It can be his biggest contribution to the company to date. How can he forget it at home?

“Look, I left it at home but I’ll go grab it during lunch,” Stan says.

“We were supposed to send it back to Mr. Adler. On Friday,” Craig says. He’s already moving away before he finishes saying, “Forget it. I’ll print a new copy. Sign it before we lose the account.”

A few minutes later under Craig’s scrutinizing glare, Stan hastily flips through the contract and signs and dates all the lines. It feels like the spacing of the paragraphs is different, but he’s in too much of a hurry to analyze and he has nothing to compare either. He hands the file to Craig with an obligatory smile. “There. Done.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Craig says. “Your prompt attention to the matter is greatly appreciated.”

Stan slinks into his chair and rubs his face. The week is off to a wonderful start already. He’s picking up his mug to get his coffee when a new meeting invite pops into his inbox. It’s from Kyle. He wants to meet at 3:00pm today to go over the October sales reports. At the bottom of the email, it reads, “P.S., I like peanut butter M&M’s more.”

A gleeful smile takes over Stan’s face. He happily clicks the Accept button and replies, “Read Mackey’s memo. Peanut butter is banned from the office. No exception.”

After lunch with Kenny at City Sushi, Stan drops off the take-out for Clyde (Cartman has, once again, stolen Clyde’s food) and gets back to work. Knowing Kyle, the meeting will run long. If he wants to leave on time - which probably won’t happen, he needs to clear out his inbox as quickly as possible. 

At a quarter to three, a nerve-wrecked Tweek stumbles out of the lunchroom with his hands clutched around his empty mug. “We’re out of Colombian roast.”

“Oh, I know, sorry, Tweeker. They’re coming in tomorrow. We still have French roast,” Kenny shouts from the front. “And the breakfast blend.”

“Breakfast blend tastes like piss. French roast is too strong! I can’t drink that. My heart can’t - ahhgggh - take it!” 

“Maybe you should lay off the coffee,” Token says. “Have you tried water?”

Tweek makes an anxious noise as he judders back to his desk. “I need coffee - I can’t concentrate. It’s too much pressure - I’m going to get fired. Oh god. Oh god. I should’ve shaved my head!”

“Butters,” Craig calls from his cubicle. “Go to Harbucks and get Tweek a coffee. Make it quick.”

Butters pops up and nods diligently. “Yes, sir! I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

As the office calls out drink orders for Butters to bring back (Stan doesn’t know how one person can carry 12 drinks but Butters will find a way), Stan sneaks to Kyle’s office and taps on the door to alert Kyle to his presence. It’s the first time they’ve seen each other face-to-face and spoken since Friday night. Stan isn’t sure what to expect, but the email is a spark of hope that maybe Kyle is interested in exploring where they can go.

Kyle glances at the time. He chastises Stan with a teasing smile. “You’re too early. Come back in fifteen.”

“Not here for the meeting.” Stan chuckles and gestures at Butters taking down orders in the main office. “I was gonna ask if you wanted something from Harbucks.”

The mischievous twinkle in Kyle’s eyes don’t go unnoticed. “Hmm, I’m really craving a peanut butter brownie.”

“Oh c’mon, don’t get the poor kid in trouble,” Stan pleads with a headshake. “Mackey will skin him alive if he finds Butters smuggling peanut butter in.”

“I’ll have to talk with Mackey about that. In the meantime, I’ll take a peanut-butter-free green tea lemonade, thank you.”

“Great.” Stan steps back and says, “I’ll be back in… fourteen and twenty seconds.”

“Actually, Stan, I’m ready now if you are.” Kyle pulls over a white binder and gestures for Stan to sit with his other hand.

“Whoa, hold up. Kyle Broflovski not following a schedule? Did I wake up in Mirror Universe today?” 

Kyle rubs his chin. “Do I have a goatee?”

“You could’ve shaved it for all I know,” Stan says with an accusative shrug. “Or you can’t grow a beard.”

Kyle scoffs then turns to his computer. He types something very quickly. Once he’s done, he smiles with the same mischievous glint in his eyes. “There, I changed our meeting to 2:30. You’re officially 16 minutes late. How would you like to explain yourself, Marsh?”

Stan gasps, long and appalled. “That’s evil.”

“Whenever you are ready.” Kyle locks his eyes on Stan with his hands clasped atop the white binder.

As he goes to close the door, Stan says, “I don’t like Mirror Kyle very much.”

“Sorry to interrupt.” Kenny stops the meeting from going forth as planned as he walks in. In his hand is a vase of tea roses. He sets it on Kyle’s desk and smiles. “It’s for you.”

The first thought that comes to Stan is that Kenny’s still on about asking Kyle out and brought him flowers. The second thought is that no, Kenny McCormick wouldn’t bring flowers for anyone; that’s just not his MO. The third thought comes from the dimming of Kyle’s eyes as he studies the roses. Stan doesn’t claim to be a very observant person, but he can tell Kyle isn’t exactly blooming with joy to see the flowers.

“Thank you,” Kyle says, his tone notably more somber than a minute ago.

Kenny nods and shoots a sidelong glance at Stan before he walks out and closes the door at Kyle’s request. Stan slips into the chair and eyes the vase as well. There is no card as far as he can see, but it’s obvious that Kyle knows exactly who sent them.

“What’s the occasion?” Stan asks, trying to sound casual and not at all dying to know the story behind the flowers.

“It’s - uh - “ Kyle presses his lips tight. It’s a rarity to see Kyle tongue-tied. He lowers his gaze to the white binder, like it’ll answer Stan in his stead. A brief moment passes before he answers, simple and an end to the conversation topic. “... It’s complicated.”

Yeah, Stan can see that. He just hopes it doesn’t complicate them with it.


	3. ALL EMPLOYEES MUST WASH THEIR GENITALS

“So let me get this straight.” Kenny sets down his beer and takes a moment to gather his thoughts. “His ex-boyfriend sends him flowers every year on their anniversary even though they broke up like, four years ago. I don’t know if that’s romantic or really fucking creepy.”

“Creepy. Go with creepy,” Stan says after a flagging down the waitress to bring another round to their table.

“And Kyle’s okay with it,” Kenny asks but says it like a statement.

“He’s not - _not_ okay with it. I don’t know, okay?” Stan polishes off his beer and slams the bottle down harder than needed. “I didn’t ask. Kinda stopped when I heard about the stalker ex.”

“Ouch, that’s messy.” Kenny swirls his bottle with one hand on his cheek. “So where does that leave you two?”

Stan pinches his nose bridge and squeezes his eyes shut. “Hell if I know. Fuck, I should’ve listened to my own advice.”

“You can’t pick and choose who you have a boner for, dude.” Kenny shrugs. “You just gotta roll with it and make sure they don’t have any STI.”

“Rolling with ‘it’ is how I fucked things over with Gary last time,” Stan says, pressing two fingers against his temple.

“That stuff with Gary sucked, but it wasn’t your fault.”

“Except it totally was. I should’ve learned my lesson.” Stan slumps forward and buries his face in his arms, inhaling the vinegar seeped in the wooden table. “I’m a fuck-up.”

“You’re not a fuck-up, Stan.” Kenny scoots his stool closer and shakes Stan gingerly. “Pathetic, yes. Fuck-up, no. Hey, does this mean I can take a shot at Kyle now?”

“Hell no.” Stan peeks up and swats Kenny’s hand off his back. He sits up straight and drinks from a new bottle. “I stand by that you sleeping with him is the worst thing that can happen to all of us.”

Kenny tilts his head, a knowing smile over his lips. “You’re really into him, aren’t you?” When Stan doesn’t answer - at least not verbally, Kenny smacks him on the shoulder. “So?”

“Dude!” Stan frowns. “So... What?”

“You gonna sit here and mope or you gonna grow some balls and get go hot ass?”

“I don’t know.” Stan wipes the condensation from his bottle, his gaze fixed to the dark amber glass. “It’s been a week and we haven’t talked about us - I mean, I don’t know what we are. If there is even a ‘we’ here. He hasn’t said anything at all. And with this ex-boyfriend fucker in the picture - dude, I don’t fucking know. Maybe that was it. Just chalked it up a mistake on both of our parts.”

“The only thing I know is that you won’t know until you ask,” Kenny says. 

“You make it sound so easy.”

“It is easy.” Kenny folds out each hand as he says, “Yes or no. That’s it.”

“No, dude - it’s complicated,” Stan says with a sidelong glance at nothing in particular.

“Only because you make it that way.” Kenny disagrees with a headshake. “It could be a waste of time or it could be something. You really not even gonna see where it can end?”

Stan stares pointedly at the beer like it, too, has relationship advice for him. He sighs and takes a long swig to delay giving Kenny a response. Is Kyle what he’s been waiting for his whole life? Who’s to say? But he’d be lying if he says Kyle didn’t switch something on inside him. To him, Kyle is like waking up in the middle of night and realizing he still has time to sleep before he has to get up for work. The threat of the imminent day is still there, but it’s quieted by the warm embrace of his bed. It’s a promise; he can pick up where he left off and dreams again.

“I guess the worst thing that can happen is he never talks to me again and fires my ass,” Stan says.

“Yeah, I’m sure you rather he pounds it,” Kenny says without missing a beat.

Stan groans with feigned disgust. “Why do I even talk to you?” He sips his beer, replaying in his head what they discussed, then looks at Kenny. “Hey, all that stuff about Kyle - his ex and stuff especially, don’t say anything to anyone, okay?”

“Please, Stan. I already tweeted that out like ten minutes ago.” At Stan’s raised brow, Kenny slings an arm around his shoulder and sighs. “C’mon, who do you take me for? They aren't getting anything outta me. Not even if they bribe me with a threesome with Beyonce and Nicki.”

Stan smiles and pats Kenny on the chest. “Cool, thanks, dude. I wanna take this at my own pace, you know? Last thing I need is rushing this and make an ass out of myself.”

Kenny flashes a crooked smile. His hand trails from Stan’s shoulder to his upper back. “If things don’t work out with him, you can always date me next.”

“Oh yeah, right, sure,” Stan scoffs and rolls his eyes. “That won’t be a shit storm at all.”

Kenny pinches Stan’s chin and coos, “I’m the love of your life, Stan. You just don’t know it yet.”

Stan laughs, batting Kenny’s hand off. He doesn’t miss the gaze Kenny lingers on him.

* * *

“Fuck - Stan - “ Kyle bucks his hips, a string of impatient and dissatisfied moans slipping out as he works himself against Stan. “Jerk me off - Please - I’m so close -”

“No way,” Stan breathes, staring up at Kyle and nails laying waste to Kyle’s outer thighs. “I want you to get off just from my cock.”

Kyle grunts, primal and with teeth biting into his lower lip. “You’re a sadist. Do you know that?”

“I like watching you work,” Stan gets out after a particularly harsh thrust that makes Kyle curl backward. He runs a hand up Kyle’s chest, tracing the constellations of freckles. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

“Stan - “ Kyle throws his head back, exposing a jawline that’s begging to be attacked. “Shit - Touch me - I want you. Please.”

“You have me.” Stan wraps around Kyle. He squeezes, gentle but teasing, and moves his body to the melody of Kyle’s erratic cries.

“That’s it, fuck, yes - that’s it - yes.” Kyle gasps, loud and honest and needy to the core. 

Stan takes a shaky breath. A shiver builds at the pit of his stomach. He rolls his hips up to meet Kyle halfway, stroking Kyle’s flushed cock from the base up, and drinks up the sight of the masterpiece unhinging on top of him.

“Stan - Fuck, Stan. Yes, yes - I’m - yes - ”

“C’mon, Kyle. C’mon -”

BZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

At 6:11, Stan wakes up to the disappointing realization that he’s not about to offload himself in Kyle’s glorious ass. He groans and throws his arm over his face after hitting the alarm harder than it deserved. His body is sweaty, his heart a flustered caged bird in his chest. He’s still sporting that wondrous erection - something his free hand is slyly moving toward. It’s so tempting to pick up where the dream left off. With his eyes shut, he can indulge in the afterimage his brain supplied overnight. Kiss-swollen lips. The captivating line of a teeth-marked throat. The slick sound of their bodies harmonizing. He drags the heel of his hand over his cock. His mouth goes slack at the desperate jolt of his hips. He arches his back, his occiput pushing into the pillow, and licks his mouth like he can taste Kyle on them.

From the living room, Shelly shouts something indistinct, and Sparky pokes its head out from under the bed. Stan flings his hand off himself as if his dick is electrified. Taking a deep breath, he pries his eyes open and abandons any thought of getting off this morning. It’s one thing to have a naughty dream; it’s another to actively jerk off thinking about Kyle. He’s pretty sure he won’t be able to look at Kyle as is already without touching himself. Besides, Sparky’s watching!

He sits up, carding a hand through his bedhead as the clock changes to 6:13. Cold shower it is then.

Stan clocks in at 8:57 and inadvertently glances to see that Kyle isn’t in yet. Which is a blessing really. Even looking at the empty office is booting up his brain’s lewd creations and his cheeks take on a red hue that has nothing to do with the wintry temperature. He has three minutes (maybe less) to compose himself before Kyle gets in. He settles his focus on tackling the day, skimming through his inbox for priority messages. Wednesdays are always the hardest. No pun intended.

By 9:07, Stan is fidgeting so much in his seat that Cartman holds a call to ask if he has sand in his vagina. Stan glances to the front door then to Kyle’s office then back to the door again. Kyle has never - ever - been late. If he's not the first one in after Kenny and Bebe (whose shifts start half an hour earlier), he's here before the clock strikes nine without fail. Of course, there's an array of reasons why Kyle is late. Maybe he overslept. Maybe he stopped to help a cat out of a tree. Maybe he was abducted by cow-loving aliens and getting an anal probe right now. Whatever the reason may be, Stan is on a quest to find out.

He walks upstairs, ignoring Cartman’s question if he needs special soap to wash his vagina. He taps on the doorframe then pops his head into Bebe’s office. Bebe glances at him, her face scowling already, and taps her pen impatiently against the files in front of her.

“What,” Bebe says.

“Hey, good morning.” Stan stays at the doorway, knowing Bebe doesn’t let people in unless they’re asked to do so. “Um - have you heard from Kyle?” 

“Why?”

“Because - he’s not in yet...?”

“Do you need something from him?”

“No, uh, not right now.” Stan scratches his elbow uneasily. “I was just asking. He’s never late.”

“Well, obviously he’s running late today, Sherlock. He’ll be in by 10,” Bebe says, and that’s all she gives out. “Can you leave now?”

Stan presses his lips into a line. He gets that Bebe doesn’t like him (partly because of his friendship with Clyde and mostly because she’s dating Wendy now) but there’s no reason for her to be rude about Kyle’s whereabouts. But seeing as Kyle isn’t in some life-threatening danger, he nods with obligatory gratitude and goes back to his desk.

Almost an hour later right before 10, Kyle finally comes in, and Stan wishes he didn't. Kyle is preternaturally pale. His eyes are watery and strained. His nose is puffy. A cough he tries to stifle comes out anyway. He walks briskly toward his office and closes the door behind him. A few minutes later, Butters brings him a cup of tea as instructed.

“You may wanna wash your hands, Butters,” Cartman says when Butters comes out. “He could be contagious. You don’t wanna catch gingervitis and turn into a ginger, do you?”

“Oh hamburgers... I don’t wanna be a ginger.” With that, Butters scuttles toward the restroom.

“Leo, use the kitchen. The restroom is busted,” Kenny says from the front. “Someone tried to flush some files down the toilet and flooded the whole thing. Maintenance is coming in later.”

“It wasn’t me,” Cartman says defensively. “I saw Token in there this morning. It was probably Token. Why did you break the toilet, Token?”

“What the fuck did you say?” Token says.

Stan keeps his eyes on Kyle’s office. Knowing Kyle, he’s probably pushing himself to be here even though he’s feeling like crap. Kyle doesn’t work directly under anyone, so it’s not like anyone here has the authority to send him home. Even if they did, they would have to drag Kyle out kicking and screaming. That’s just the kind of person Kyle Broflovski is. Work first. Everything else second. No exception.

When lunch finally rolls around, Stan declines Kenny’s invite to Sizzler and ventures off alone. He stops at first at the Village Inn and orders a bowl of chicken soup. But when he asks the cashier if the soup is kosher and gets a confused look, he goes across town to Whole Foods instead for the soup and picks up some homeopathic cold remedies the stocker recommended. By the time he realized he didn't have anything for lunch, he's already pulling back into the office. Oh well. That's what's Butters is for.

With a paper bag in one hand, he knocks on Kyle’s door, which has been closed for the entire morning, and walks in at the hoarse “come in” from its occupant. Kyle crumbles up a ball of tissue and throws it in the trashcan to join its many brethren. He sniffles with a forced smile and pushes back a few stray strands of hair.

“Kyle, you look like shit,” Stan says.

“Why thank you, Stan, I’m flattered,” Kyle says.

“No - I mean, what are you even doing here?” Stan sets down the bag on the desk, which Kyle eyes curiously. “You should be at home resting.”

Kyle raises his brow. “Are you my mother?”

“No, but I’m gonna call her if you don’t stop misbehaving.” Stan takes out the soup and the box of herbal supplements. “Here - I got you some chicken soup and these pills thing-ys. I don’t know what they do but the lady at Whole Foods said they’ll help with the cold. See if they work.”

Kyle takes the offered plastic spoon and pulls the bowl of soup toward him after moving some paperwork out of the way. His cheeks dimple from a glowing smile that breathes some color back into his face. “You didn’t have to do this, Stan.”

“I wanted to,” Stan says, easy. He fishes out the last item in the bag and hands it over with an impish smirk. “For dessert.”

Kyle chuckles, taking the bag of peanut butter M&M’s. He toys with it in his hand. “I should report you to Mackey. This is a serious violation of our code of conduct.”

“I threw away the receipt so you can’t prove I bought them.” Stan shrugs innocently. “I don’t know how these got there, Mackey. We found them in Kyle’s office.”

Kyle hides the M&M’s under a stack of paper. “You came into my office and said I look like shit, and now you’re trying to frame me. What did I ever do to you?”

“See, none of this would’ve happened if you just stayed home today.”

Kyle tilts his head, his fingers steepled in front of his chin. “Is this some kind of ploy to get me to go home?”

“Hey, what’s up with these accusations? I don’t appreciate it, okay? I’m just trying to help.”

“You should leave before I throw you out,” Kyle jokes.

“Oh, I’d love to see you try.”

“Well, you did bring me soup. It wouldn’t be very nice to do that.” Kyle chuckles with a lowered gaze at the soup. When he looks up at Stan again, his eyes are beaming with gratitude. “Thank you, Stan. I really appreciate this.”

“Don’t mention it.” Stan smiles. “Take it easy, okay?”

When he leaves, he closes the door behind him at Kyle’s insistence. Immediately, Butters skitters over with a bottle of hand sanitizer at the ready. 

“Hurry, you gotta kill the ginger cooties, Stan,” Butters says, anxiously squirting the gel onto Stan’s hands. “We can’t have you turnin’ into a ginger.”

“Butters, there’s no such thing as ginger cooties. Cartman’s messing with you.” Stan rubs the sanitizer over his hands either way. “Hey, I need you to run out and bring me back something to eat.”

“Oh, sure thing. I gotta pick up some garlic too. Eric says if I rub garlic all over myself, I won’t turn into a ginger.”

Stan rolls his eyes and sends Butters on his way with a twenty. He gets back to his desk and spends the rest of the day listening to the muffled coughs from Kyle’s office. 

At exactly six o’clock, he busts into the office and wrangles an unwilling Kyle out and drives him back home after a pit stop for takeout from City Wok. If he didn’t live with Shelly, Stan would’ve invited Kyle over to his place than let him cooped up at the hotel room. The room isn’t bad; it doesn’t smell like urine and even has a kitchenette and a dinner table, but he can understand why Kyle didn’t want to stay here the whole day. It’s lonely. He can feel it painted into the four walls.

He sets the food down at the kitchen counter and glances around. As expected, much like the office, there are very little personal items laid out. Not that he’s expecting Kyle to put up family photos in the hotel, but the room features nothing of sentimental value. Except for the vase of tea roses - the last of it, anyway - sitting at the desk next to the laptop.

“All right, eat your dinner then go straight to bed,” Stan says. 

“It’s official. You nag more than my mom does,” Kyle says, unwinding his scarf and draping it over the chair. “It’s just a cold. It’s not a big deal.”

“It can turn serious. Did you know that untreated common cold can lead to a strep throat infection? Or bronchitis? Even pneumonia in some cases. Tell me that isn’t a big deal.”

“Okay, Stan, I get it.” Kyle puffs out of his nose in resignation. “I’ll eat my dinner and I’ll go straight to bed. Are you satisfied?”

“You promise?” Stan knits a stern frown with his brows.

“Pinky promise.” Kyle comes forward and smiles softly at Stan. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I can’t help it.” Stan shrugs and feels the back of his neck tickling. “I’m just always this nice, you know.”

“I guess I can’t say I don’t like it…” Kyle’s voice drops an octave. “It feels nice having you fussed over me.”

Kyle hovers closer and Stan puts his hand on Kyle’s arm. Even stricken with a cold or maybe because of the cold, Kyle’s lips look exceptionally kissable. Kyle gazes up at him, his long eyelashes framing the desire in his eyes. Stan dips low, and Kyle tilts his head upward. Stan would’ve gone in for the kiss it if his eyes didn’t sway at the last moment and see the flowers at the back of the room. They mock him. They remind him that there is someone in Kyle’s life that Kyle clearly hasn’t let go of. At that thought, Stan moves back. His hand drops down to Kyle’s wrist, and he gives it a half-hearted squeeze.

“I hope you feel better,” Stan says, inching backward to the door. “I should - get going. Have a good night.”

“Oh... Thank you.” Kyle freezes in place, a perplexed frown draining the blush from his face. “Bye, Stan.”

Stan climbs into his car and lets the engine run in the bitter night. He won’t know unless he asks, he remembers Kenny saying, but right now, he doesn’t know if he wants to know at all.

* * *

“There’s the whole family gathered around for Thanksgiving. There is Shelly eating the sweet potato casserole. Wave to the camera, Shelly. And here are Stan’s little friend and his sister, Kenny and Karen. Isn’t Karen a beaut? How do you like the turkey, Kenny? Say it to the camera. Nice.”

“Randy, can you please sit down?” Sharon says with a strained polite tone.

“Yeah, Dad, you don’t really need to record this,” Stan chimes in forcefully. 

“You’re all gonna be very happy I have these footage some days,” Randy says, panning the camcorder over the table. “Here’s Stan’s other friend, Kyle. Are you having a good time, son?”

“I’m - having a wonderful time, Mr. Marsh.” Kyle smiles meekly. He looks to Sharon and smiles more genuinely. “Thank you for having me, Mrs. Marsh. The food is delicious.”

“Oh, thank you, Kyle. Please, help yourself. Make yourself at home, okay?” Sharon smiles back then snaps at Randy, who’s taping Sparky humping grandpa’s wheelchair. “Randy! Can you - please? We have guests here.”

“Okay, okay.” Randy sits down at last and turns the camera on himself. “Here’s me sitting down for dinner. Hi guys. It’s me from the past. How’s the future? Did we send a man to Uranus yet? Hehe, see what I did there?”

Stan pinches his nose bridge and groans inwardly. Why did he think it was a good idea to invite Kyle over for Thanksgiving and expose the poor guy to his embarrassing family? Oh right, because the moment he heard Kyle wasn’t going home for the holiday, his heart practically leapt out to invite him itself. The kiss that didn’t happen still hangs over their heads. The times they did talk at the office were either about work or awkward small talks that led them nowhere. If nothing else, Stan had hoped they can at least be friends, but he’s not sure if that’s on the table anymore.

After dinner with desserts and all the cordial conversations out of the way, Stan takes Kyle upstairs to his old room while Kenny and Karen stay downstairs to occupy the Marshes with updates on how Karen’s doing in college. 

Kyle studies the Street Warrior poster on the wall then takes in the Broncos paraphernalia. Stan shuffles uneasily by his old desk.

“So - uh…. You said you wanted to talk?” Stan says at last while Kyle looks over the Terrance and Phillip figurines on the wardrobe.

“Yes, I do.” Kyle turns around with a guilty gaze as if he’s been thinking about stealing the figurines. There is an uncharacteristic pause with Kyle staring at a spot on the carpet before he utters, plain and simple, “I like you, Stan.”

“Oh.” It probably isn’t the right response, but it’s the only one Stan can give.

“I would’ve said something sooner but there was never a right time,” Kyle says, brushing a loose curl out of the way. “I wasn’t even sure if you were...” He trails off then sits down at the edge of the bed at Stan’s signal. “I wanted tonight to be a chance to clear the air.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation or whatever,” Stan says, shifting his weight and making the bed frame groan under them. “I mean - we never really talked about…” He makes a vague gesture at the two of them.

“I was with Christophe for four years,” Kyle starts, thumbing his fingers over one another, “It was my first real relationship and I guess I do still feel something for him even now. It’s not necessarily… love but you just don’t forget the first person that makes you feel - that makes feel like _you_. Like you finally know who you are because you have them.” 

Stan nods like he understands but he doesn’t. An emptiness he never knew existed in him slithers up his back. He didn’t know he was waiting for someone to make him _him_.

“I tried. After we broke up, I dated a few people but nothing really felt the same. It’s like... he dug a hole in me and when he left, I couldn’t find anything to fill that part of me he took.” Kyle’s shoulders shake with a breath. He stares at Stan, his eyes bleeding with sincerity. “Then, Stan, you - damn it...” He steels himself for a few seconds then soldiers on. “You did it so easy. You came - and you brought something back to me. You made me feel like---” He clenches his fists, makes a frustrated groan, and blabbers, “You’re like this - this… this shovel! I finally have what I needed to feel whole again and it’s you.”

“... Dude.”

“I know I come with a lot of baggage and it’s not something that can magically go away and I know this is completely irrational. But Stan…” Kyle exhales, lips and eyes quivering with vulnerability and loss. “I think you’re what I’ve been missing these four years.”

Stan blinks, his mind slowly reprocessing what Kyle said in a language he can understand. The whole time he thought he’s the one fallen without hope for Kyle. He couldn’t have in a million imagined that Kyle feels so deeply toward him. Kyle sure as hell has never made it seem that way.

“I had no idea,” Stan mutters more to himself than for anyone to hear. He stares ahead at the door gap and frowns. “I’m a shovel?”

“... It’s a metaphor.”

“Oh. Cool.” Stan shifts his gaze onto Kyle and watches the unsteady breaths Kyle takes. There is - and probably always will be a voice in the corner of his mind that tells him this is a mistake. Nothing happy will come out of a relationship with Kyle. It will end, like he already knows it will, in a disaster. It will ruin them. That hole in Kyle will only get bigger and deeper.

Then there is that other voice, a shining light in an ocean of darkness that says, fuck it. Just fuck it. Happiness is fought for, not given. He won’t know the best of it if he doesn’t triumph through the worst of it.

“Kyle - Uh…” Stan clears his throat then puts his feelings into words. “I’m not good at words like you…. To be honest, I wasn’t really sure if I should. I mean, the last time I was with someone, holy shit, it was such a clusterfuck.” He thinks about Gary; a bubble of guilt pops in his stomach. “I didn’t wanna screw things up, you know. Not just because we have to work together and stuff. And yeah, the whole ex-boyfriend thing you got going did put me off…” He rubs his palms down his thighs. “But I guess if you’re gonna hit something, you gotta hit it till it breaks.... Uh, okay, that’s... not a good metaphor. I was never good at English lit but what I’m trying to say is…” He reaches over and takes Kyle’s hand. It’s startling how well their hands fit together. “I wanna give this a go if you’re up for it.”

Kyle turns his palm up so he can lace his fingers with Stan. There is no hesitation in him when he says, “I’m up for it.”

“Sweet.”

With his free hand, Stan cups Kyle’s face and draws him closer. They meet halfway. The kiss takes that emptiness in Stan and stripes it away strands by strands. When they part breathless from each other’s presence, Stan maps Kyle’s cheeks with his fingers, his eyes fluttering between open and closed. He can sense Kyle’s smile, radiant and warm against the November night.

“Hey turd!” Shelly shouts as she raps on the door. “You ready to go yet?”

“We’ll be right there,” Stan shouts back while Kyle rests his forehead on his shoulder.

“Hey, can we get a ride home?” Kenny asks from the hallway.

“Take the bus, twerp.”

“It’s Thanksgiving. The buses don’t run.”

“Then I guess you better walk,” Shelly says, her footsteps retreating down the stairs.

“I can’t make Karen walk. It’s too fucking cold,” Kenny protests, his footsteps following Shelly down.

Stan waits until it quiets down before he strokes Kyle’s back, beckoning Kyle to sit up straight. He smiles, brushing away that troublesome curl out of Kyle’s face, then leans in for another kiss.

This, he’s glad he knows now, this is what he’s been missing. This is what makes him _him_.


	4. EMPLOYEES MAY NOT SPANK EACH OTHER AS DISCIPLINARY ACTIONS

“What's a scause?”

“I don't know but it sells.” Stan shrugs lazily on his bed. “I mean, it has to if we're paying three millions for it.”

Kyle studies the copy of the contract Stan forgot at home. He re-reads each clause as if there is a hidden meaning behind the words. “We’re spending three million dollars on something we don't even know what is it.”

“It’s like - a thing, you know - people are gonna wanna buy it. The company’s gonna make a fortune. This could be my thing, Kyle. Like how Tweek has his deal with the gnomes and Craig has the Peruvian thing. When people talk about scauses, it’s gonna be me they’re talking about.”

“It’s good to see you so ambitious.” Kyle flips to the next page. Stan’s surprised he hasn’t busted out a magnifying glass to look at it any closer. “This does look promising. I’d like to take a look at the business proposal as well.”

“I guess if you want but I don’t have it. You’ll have to ask Victoria for it.” Stan sits up, stretching out his arms to beckon Kyle over. “C’mon, will you put that down and come to bed already? You promised me cuddles.”

“I’m almost done,” Kyle says, purposely holding two fingers up. “Two minutes.”

“Kyle, c’mon. The bed’s getting cold.”

“Shh, I’m trying to read.”

“Kyle,” Stan whines, throwing his head back like how Sparky howls. “It’s Friday. Stop working.”

“You know the more you distract me, the longer it’ll take me to finish.” Kyle sits down at the chair and spins it around to face away from Stan.

“Kyle.” Stan crawls on his hands and knees to the edge of the bed. “It’s been more than two minutes.”

“Hmm, this is very interesting,” Kyle says, underlining with his finger as he goes through the pages. “I think I’ll read it one more time just for the fun of it.”

Stan gasps and puts his hand over his mouth. “You wouldn’t.”

Kyle flips back to the first page and starts over. He hums carefreely and sinks into the chair to show how much he’s enjoying his reading material over the promised cuddling.

Stan huffs and climbs off the bed. He rolls his sleeves up literally. “All right, you wanna play dirty, I’ll play dirty.” He turns the chair around and in one smooth move, scoops Kyle right out of his seat.

Kyle yelps, clutching the contract to his chest, and kicks his foot out. “Stan! Put me down!”

“If you say so.” WIth mischief glinting in his eyes, Stan throws Kyle onto the bed and before Kyle can regain his composure, he climbs on top of him and traps him on the bed.

“That’s not how I meant,” Kyle says with a pout and the file over his chest like a shield. 

“I know.” Stan smirks. He plucks the contract out of Kyle’s grip and tosses it somewhere. He leans down to kiss the pout off Kyle then rolls onto his side. “Less work. More cuddles.”

“You’re so demanding.” Kyle rolls his eyes and moves onto his side with his arm as a pillow. He takes Stan’s hand and strokes the back of it slowly with his thumb. 

Stan scoots closer, but not too close that Kyle has to stop writing secret codes into his skin for him to decipher later. He stills and stares at Kyle like the first man who ever saw the vast night sky: awestruck by a fathomless beauty and trembling under the weight of how small he is. 

“Stan?” When Kyle blinks, it unravels every seam in Stan. “You’re staring.”

“I know,” Stan says, breathless. “You’re beautiful.”

Kyle cringes and dibs his head. Stan comes closer yet and repositions their hands so he can hold Kyle’s to his heart. He gives it a squeeze, lifting Kyle’s head back up at the motion, and smiles like it’s the only thing he knows how to do.

“Oh, no, oh no, I know this look. Please, don’t you dare,” Kyle warns, shaking his head.

“I can count the stars in your eyes forever,” Stan whispers.

“Oh God - no. Please, don’t.” Kyle grimaces and presses his lips shut to repress a smile.

“You comfort the darkness in my soul,” Stan goes on. “Without you, I’m lost in an endless ocean, drowning in sorrow and screaming in agony.”

“Please, I can’t listen to this.” Kyle slips out a chuckle he’s been fighting off.

Stan squeezes Kyle’s hand tighter and increases the dramatics. “The sound of your name silences my demons and makes the angels inside me sing.”

Kyle crinkles his eyes and holds in his laughs. He tries to break his hand free from Stan’s grip, but Stan presses it harder against his chest.

“You’re a poison I gladly take. A death I openly embrace.“

“Please, I don’t deserve this.” Kyle shakes his head and chuckles into the sheet. “This is too much.”

“You’re a glimpse of light in all my nothing, the cure to all my pain. My darkest desire, my deepest despair…” Stan presses his lips to the back of Kyle’s hand and finishes, “You’re my one, my only, my Kyley-B.”

Kyle makes a sound that’s a mix of between a shrieking donkey and a dying whale. He pulls from Stan and rolls over to bury his face under both hands. Stan laughs and envelops Kyle, who’s in the middle of a giggling fit, and pulls him against him.

“Did you like it? I think it’s my best work yet,” Stan says, nesting his chin in the crook of Kyle’s neck.

“It was terrible,” Kyle says between a laugh and a wheeze. “It was so ridden with cliches and the imagery was inconsistent. It didn’t even rhythm.”

“You’re hurting my feelings, Kyle.” Stan frowns, turning the corners of his lips down. “I poured my heart into that one.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” Kyle says, lolling his head back. “It was… sweet. Thank you, Raven.”

Stan hums proudly and presses a kiss to the tip of Kyle’s nose. “There’s more of that where it came from.”

“Are you talking about the kiss or the poem?”

“Which one do you like more?”

Kyle tilts his head up and draws Stan in for a kiss. Stan smiles into it. Even with eyes closed, he sees the set of tranquil green eyes. They sooth away his turmoil; all the stress and worries of daily life become nothing but a distant threat for another day. Right now, there is only Kyle and him, the brushes of skin against skin, and the steady exchanges of promises. 

They break apart. Kyle’s eyes are so deep they make the ocean seem harmless, and his smile is sirens luring Stan to drown. Stan dives in for one more kiss, happily resigned to the undertow pulling him toward his doom.

“Did that answer your question?” Kyle asks, leaving codes on Stan’s hand again.

Stan grins, impish, and nods. “I got it. Poem it is then! I call this next piece, Death of a Conformist’s Love.”

“No!” Kyle cries and smothers his face into the bedsheet.

Stan cooes into his ear, “The sun is slain the day you left me...”

* * *

“What the fuck, Clyde? You took my Taco Bell.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It’s 12:12 when Stan turns around and looks into the lunchroom. He can see the back of Cartman’s head and Clyde sitting across from him. He sighs and begrudgingly gets up to put an end of the bickering. For a group of twenty-something, they have the maturity of fourth-graders. Luckily, it’s only those two and Token, Jimmy, and Craig; that will be easier than juggling the whole crew.

“That’s my triple decker quesadilla with extra chicken, Clyde!” Cartman bangs his fists on the table.

Clyde licks a string of melted cheese from the corner of his lip and frowns. “I don’t see your name on it.”

Cartman gasps, his eyes bulging so much Stan’s surprised they didn’t fall out. “You can’t do that.”

“This is really good. The chicken actually tastes like chicken,” Clyde says to Craig next to him, who nods.

“You owe me $12.” Cartman holds his hand out. “Pay up.”

Clyde cocks his brow and says with a mouthful, “Why?”

“That’s how much the quesadilla costs.,” Cartman says. “You have to pay me back.” 

“But it’s Clyde’s quesadilla,” Token says with a puzzled look, “Why would he have to give you 12 dollars?”

“Shut up, Token! Stay outta this!” Cartman flares his nostrils and then shoots a glance at Stan. “Fair’s fair, right, Stan? He took my food, he has to give me the money back.”

Stan scratches the back of his head cluelessly. “I don't know… Can you prove it’s your quesadilla? Clyde said he didn’t see your name on it.”

“The fuck, Stan?” Cartman scowls. “You’re on this asshole’s side?” 

“You got any witness? Evidence?” Stan says with an ostentatious shrug. ”If you can't prove it’s yours, there's not much I can do.”

“You can’t call me an asshole, Cartman,” Clyde mimics. “I want an apology.”

“Clyde, you bleached asshole!” Cartman raps his fists on the table repeatedly. “Give me the damn money!”

“I don’t have any money.” Clyde plucks a cube of chicken out from the quesadilla and chews it noisily.

“You don’t have any money?!?” Cartman draws a quick breath. Stan sees the wheels turning in his head and doesn’t like where this can end up. “Why don’t you ask your mommy? Oh wait - your mom’s dead. Haha, Clyde’s mom is dead.”

“Dude. Not cool,” Token cuts in. 

“Shut the hell up, fatass,” Clyde says, lowering the quesadilla down.

“Clyde’s mom is so dead,” Cartman laughs, “when I kicked her in the balls, dust fell out her ass.”

“Th-th-that’s in poor taste,” Jimmy says, turning his head in disgust.

“You guys, Clyde’s mom is so dead,” Cartman snickers, “even Jesus couldn’t bring her back with a miracle.”

“Cartman, shut the fuck up!” Clyde shouts. The quesadilla drops on its wrapper unceremoniously.

Stan steps up and stands next to Cartman with his arms crossed. “Cartman, cut it out. That’s enough.”

“Wait - wait, I got another one.” Cartman clears his throat. “Clyde’s mom is so dead, her farts don't even stink anymore.” He bangs a hand on the table, cracking up at his own joke.

“I said shut the fuck up, you fat fuck!” Clyde stands up. His lips quiver as he slams his hands on the table and leans toward Cartman threateningly.

“Calm down, Clyde,” Jimmy says, “Don’t s-s-sink to his level.”

Cartman, on the other hand, isn’t intimidated by Clyde at all. He wipes a laugh tear from his eye. “Clyde’s mom is so dead, even maggots wouldn't eat her out.”

“Cartman, you're going way too far,” Stan warns. “You need to stop.”

“What? What's the big deal?” Cartman looks left and right. “I'm just tryna brighten everyone's lunch up with some workplace humor. This is a good one. Listen, Clyde’s mom is so dead---”

It goes wrong so fast. Stan's right there but it catches him so off-guard that he can't stop it. He guesses everyone was expecting Clyde to jump Cartman right there and then. But it's Craig, six-foot-two and with more fights under his belts than everyone present combined, that socks Cartman right in the nose. Stan - he swears to God - hears Cartman’s bone cracking. 

Cartman falls backward out of the chair. If it weren't for the table between them, it’s obvious Craig would've gone for a follow-up. Hands and arms are flailing all over the place. Some grabs Craig and pulls him back. Some, like Stan, helps the shrieking Cartman up. Some freezes, the light out in their head, and doesn't know what to do. 

Craig's calm voice is a front - a lull in a raging hurricane. “Do you have any more joke you want to tell?”

“Whmmm hppf fuck!” Cartman mumbles into his hand. Blood seeps through the gaps. “You brmmm my ffffing nnnmhh!”

“Grab the first aid kit!” 

“Sh-sh-should we call an ambulance?”

“Fffk the ambulance!” Cartman wipes his nose, winces from the pain, then screeches. “Call the fucking cops! I'm gonna sue your ass, Craig! I'm gonna sue you!”

“Stop talking, Cartman!”

“Here - put this over your nose.”

Stan has been in fights before. Who hasn't? But those situations were different. He was either a participant or a spectator; he was never, until now, expected to be a judge. He’s the team leader and the one with the most authority currently present. Eyes are on him, waiting for him to make a call. It's Craig's fault. It's Cartman’s fault. It's no one’s fault. It’s the quesadilla's fault. 

No matter what he says, it's going to be wrong.

“Okay, Cartman.” Stan gets in front of Cartman and assesses the damage. “It doesn't look bad---”

“Doesn’t look bad?” Cartman scrunches his face, his voice nasally, blood dripping into his mouth. “I’m bleeding more than a chick on her rag!”

Stan winces. He has to admit there is quite a bit of blood. “Okay, okay, Token, take him to urgent care. ER if he needs it. Uh - Jimmy, can you get someone to clean up the - um - the blood?”

Cartman angrily goes with Token with Jimmy following after threatening to sue Craig one more time. With those three gone, Stan turns to Craig, who lingers by the sink with Clyde next to him. With his unfazed expression, it’s easy to miss the time bombs in Craig’s eyes and not notice he’s more upset than Clyde is over the fiasco. The three of them stand there without a word, listening to Cartman’s voice getting further away. Then the office tunes back to its normal ambience, and Stan takes a breath and pinches his nose bridge. He knows what he has to do, and he’s not looking forward to it.

“Craig…” Stan says. “You’re coming with me to see Mackey.”

“But Cartman started it!” Clyde steps in to protect Craig from Stan’s clutches. “He had it coming!”

“No - I don’t care if - okay, this is assault. Craig assaulted Cartman so I just need...” Stan trails off, making a vague gesture that says nothing. “We need to take care of this, okay. It's a big mess.”

Craig doesn’t put up a fight. He straightens his suspenders then comes over. Leaving a visibly distressed Clyde behind, Stan walks Craig upstairs to face his judgement.

At 2:33, Stan comes downstairs alone. Craig was sent on his way about an hour ago, and the rest of Stan’s meeting with Mackey was a pointer on how to manage workplace conflict and violence better. He's a leader now, Mackey kept saying, he needs to know how to resolve issues more efficiently and effectively. Stan wonders if Mackey has been a leader in his life; he makes it sound so simple like a trust fall is the solution to all of their problems. 

Stan is half way down the stairs when Clyde ambushes him and traps him between the floors.

“What the hell?” Clyde says, not bothering to keep the volume down. “Two weeks suspension but Cartman gets to be on ‘rest leave’? With pay? How's that fair to Craig?”

“It's not but Craig should've thought about that before he hit Cartman,” Stan says with his hands in his trousers pockets and a lowered gaze. “Knowing Cartman, he isn't gonna let Craig off easy either. I mean, he can legit sue Craig and he probably will.”

“What about all those shit he said?” Clyde’s voice is uneven with anger. ”How is it no one ever got on Cartman’s case but the second Craig does something about it, he's the one in trouble.”

“Uh - Clyde, dude, he broke Cartman’s nose. You don't do that.” Stan shakes his head helplessly. “I mean, I get why you’re pissed off but it’s one thing for Cartman to rip on us but Craig can't just start throwing punches like that. He should’ve known better.”

“Who here doesn't want to beat Cartman’s ass? Tell me. Who?” Clyde clutches his fists and bares his teeth. “At any other company, Cartman would've been fired long ago but no, we let him get away with everything. We let him off saying offensive shit. We don’t care how he bullies Butters, and let’s forget what he did to Jenny Simon. Do you remember Jenny, Stan? Do you remember what happened to her?”

“Yes - fuck, I remember what happened, Clyde.” Stan grimaces and glances away. “Look, I get it. I really do and trust me, I'm not happy either but it is what it is. Craig fucked up. He has to deal with the fallout. That's it. Cartman is another story, okay. We’re dealing with Craig right now, okay.” He presses his lips shut and hates how much he sounds like Mackey just now.

Clyde quiets for a moment. Stan deceives himself into thinking he might have gotten through Clyde and can put an end to all the unpleasantness. But then Clyde takes a sharp inhale, his lips wobbling like he's gonna cry.

“Fuck this place,” Clyde says, moving down the steps. “I'm out.”

“Clyde, no - aww, c’mon, dude!” Stan trails behind, turning his hand out but not touching Clyde. “It's not worth it! Craig’s coming back. We’ll sort Cartman out. You can't quit. C’mon, Clyde! You and me started here together.”

Clyde pauses, one foot on a higher step. His gaze is a bottomless pit of hurt. “Then why aren't you with me on this? You took Cartman’s side over me, Stan.”

Stan remembers what Mackey said. Leaders don't take sides; leaders study all fact and make the best call. It's not about who is right, but what is right. Sure, like Clyde said, who hasn’t wanted to beat Cartman’s ass, but Craig acting on it makes him in the wrong no matter what. In this case, anyway.

“I'm just doing what I gotta do, okay? I'm not picking sides!” Stan drops his shoulders and avoids Clyde's glare. “It's not like I asked for this. It wasn't even really my call. It's just how it is! I have to, okay? You wouldn't get it. It is what it is, dude.”

Clyde scoffs, turning his eyes to the side with disbelief. He shakes his head then pulls a Craig - he flips Stan off. “Fuck you, Stan.”

“Hey wait, wait - Clyde, c’mon!” Stan treads down the stairs after Clyde and watches him leaves straight out the door. He huffs then ignores his better instinct and shouts, “Fuck you too, Clyde! You don't get it!”

Stan drags his hand over his face and gets back to his desk. It's quiet in the office with half the team gone. He flags Bradley over and tells him to cover for Cartman’s work for the rest of the day then shoos away Scott’s nosy glance with a stern stare. He settles in for maybe fifteen, twenty minutes before his phone rings. The dread in his stomach tastes like vomit.

“Yes, Bebe?” Stan answers. 

On the other line, Bebe says, “I hope you still have those lubes I told Kenny to order because Victoria wants to see you. Now.”

* * *

“I can't believe Victoria said that to you,” Kenny says, throwing his pants haphazardly into a box. “That's bullshit.”

“She was right,” Stan says, duct-taping a box then scribbling the content on the outside for identification. He pushes it next to the other boxes in Kenny’s bedroom. “I could've handled it better.”

“How?” Kenny turns half-way from his wardrobe and frowns. “Jump in front of Craigster’s fist? Even I wouldn't done that if I was there.”

“I don't know…” Stan buries part of his face with his hand then grumbles. “Diffuse the situation or something - before it all escalated and got blown up. Obviously I fucked up.”

“You didn’t fuck up.” Kenny drags out a sigh and shoves a handful of wrinkled t-shirts into the box. “You didn't know it was coming. You did the best you could in a bad situation. She can’t blame you for that.”

“Well, she does… She’s all disappointed in me and stuff.” Stan drums the sharpie against his forehead and blows air out through his mouth.

“She knows she’s the one that said you were the best, right?”

“Which makes it suck even more. She’s making it out like I completely let her down. And that's not even counting what Kyle's gonna say to Corporate.” Stan sits down on the floor and leans against Kenny’s bed. “Just between you and me, we haven't done much improvement since Kyle came and now we got this mess on our hand?” He catches his face in his hands and groans. “Fuck - I said I wasn’t gonna let anyone get fired.”

“No one’s getting axed.” Kenny waves a dismissive hand then pushes the clothes down to make more room. “Chill. If it's Kyle, that's easy. Seduce him. Get him not to report it.”

Stan peeks under his hands and scoffs. “Ha, yeah right. You gotta stop sniffing sharpies if you think Kyle's not gonna do his job. He probably already wrote it up and sent it off. We might not have a job on Monday.”

“Damn it, where the hell’s your leverage?”

“Uh - I don't have any.” Stan furrows his brows. “I’m not… using him for stuff.”

“You know part of sleeping with a superior is exactly for this reason, right?” Kenny raises his brow. “You’re doing it wrong, Stan.”

“Uh - no, I’m not doing it wrong. I’m not doing anything.” Stan scoots over and starts packing Kenny’s Okama Gamesphere without getting up. “Am I the only one who thinks it’s totally weird to sleep with your boss? Not that Kyle’s my boss and I ever actually slept with Gary but you know what I mean. It’s not right.”

Kenny absent-mindedly gathers his underwears into the box as he says, “Then you’re with the wrong company, man. Our own CEO is fucking his assistant. Everybody knows that. They probably go at it on the couch in his corner office with the private bathroom and Neptune water fountain.”

“When I own a multimillion-dollar company,” Stan says as he points to himself. “I can be as unscrupulous as I want. But until then, I have my principles.”

“Unscrupulous,” Kenny repeats and narrows his eyes. “Big word. Did you tell Kyle to teach you instead of letting him suck you off in his office?”

Stan wraps the cords around the controllers and puts them in the box. “I'm not even gonna acknowledge that.”

“He gotta be kinky, right?” Kenny smirks, spinning a tube sock in one hand. “I can tell. It's the freckles. Hey, just make sure you both wash your balls. Otherwise it’ll leave a print on the desk. They should really make that a rule.”

“Don't talk about my boyfriend like that, dude, and we’re so not gonna have sex at the office.” Stan scribbles on the box then mutters, “We actually haven't - you know… done anything yet at all.”

Kenny leans against his wardrobe with concern. “If you have performance issue, you can tell me. I'm your bro, Stan, I got stuff I can help you out with.”

“What? No - what - oh fuck you.” Stan throws the sharpie at Kenny. “It’s not that. I don’t have any problem performing for the record. It’s just - we’re taking it slow, remember? Not messing things up and all that.”

“Hang on.” Kenny holds his finger up. “I needa grab the soap so I can wash that filth from my ears.”

“Not everyone thinks about getting laid all the time.”

Kenny cocks his head to the side and smiles smugly. “Sounds like something someone who has performance issues would say.” 

“Shut up, dude.” Stan throws an old PS2 memory card at Kenny.

Kenny catches the card and dumps it into his box of clothes. “Hey, serious talk, isn't his three months almost up? What's gonna happen after that?”

Stan pauses in the middle of piling up a stack of games. He flaps one case against his thigh, lost in thoughts for a moment. “I don't know… We haven't really talked about that. I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Kenny opens his closet and takes a few jackets off their hangers. “You know what happens to people who cross a bridge when they come to it? If this is just a fling or whatever, you should know now. I don't want you getting into it and getting cut off when the clock runs out.”

Stan gets up after putting the cases into the box. He turns to face Kenny, who has his back turned against him. “I know you’re looking out for me but this is Kyle we're talking about. He isn't gonna screw me over. I mean, we can do a long-distance thing or whatever. He bounces around a lot because of his job but it’s not like he’s gonna be out of reach forever.”

“You know him better than me so…” Kenny folds the jackets in half and drops them over the full box. “I hope you know what you're doing, babe.”

Stan grabs the tape and takes the jackets off the box. “You know you should hang out with him. Get to know him. You’re gonna like him.”

Kenny smiles, his cheeks pushing up toward his eyes so exaggeratedly that Stan gets the feeling he isn’t really taking to the suggestion. “Yeah, sure, it’s a date if he ever detaches his ass from your dick. Oh wait.”

Stan rolls his eyes. He seals up the box and marks it. “Anyway, I wasn’t done telling you what Victoria said. She’s gonna pick someone else to help until Wendy and Pete get back.”

“I thought we weren’t gonna have a job on Monday because you aren’t fucking Kyle,” Kenny teases then kneels down to pick up some clothes off the closet floor. “Who does she got on her mind? Token seems like the obvious choice.”

“No, I think she's looking for outsiders. Someone logical and doesn't have emotional stake in the team.”

Kenny gasps into the closet. “Bebe.”

“Don’t even joke.” Stan groans, turning around to see they pretty much got most of the bedroom done. “Clyde would quit for real and she would skin me alive.”

“If it’s gonna be someone from the office, she got what it takes.”

“Yeah, I guess… It’s gonna be hell if she picks Bebe though,” Stan says. He grabs an empty box and heads for the door. “I’m gonna get started on the kitchen.”

“Hey, hang on a sec.” Kenny takes a brand-new tie out its square box and drapes it around Stan’s neck. The tie’s a calm blue in sharp contrast to the black t-shirt with Stan is wearing. “Here, take this. It’ll help your performance issues.”

“Fuck off, I don’t have any issue.” Stan drops the cardboard box and runs his fingers over the tie bemusedly. “How’s a tie gonna help anyway?”

“Oh yeah, hot stud, I bet you can go all night,” Kenny smirks. He adjusts the tie then starts to tie it. “It’s not or it might, who knows. I just want you to have it.”

“Where did even you get this?” Stan asks. “It looks expensive. And new.”

“Last year Secret Santa. I asked for a Tesla convertible and got a tie instead. Guess that's what I get for being a naughty boy.” Kenny jiggles the tie like it’ll magically tie itself. “Okay, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”

Stan takes over with practiced ease. “Seriously, how do you not know how to put on a tie?”

Kenny tries to follow the steps but gives up almost immediately. “You ever seen me wear one?”

“Maybe you should start.” Stan straightens the tie and smooths it against his chest. He can’t tell how it looks but from the grin on Kenny’s face --- actually, scratch that, Kenny’s grins never mean well.

Kenny moves his hand down the length of the tie. He smiles, bright and sincere. “Hot. Keep it. It brings out your eyes.”

“You sure?” Stan turns it over to check the brand. It's not something he would've bought for himself.

“Yeah, take it as a thank-you for helping me move.”

“Hey, it's cool.” Stan wiggles the tie to loosen it up. It’s going to get in the way. “I said I'd do it for beer.”

“About that... I have bad news... I’m outta beer so you're getting a tie, sucker.” Kenny grins and knocks him on the shoulder. “C’mon, my apartment isn’t gonna packed itself.”

“I thought our friendship meant more to you than free labor,” Stan says, but he picks up the empty box anyway and moseys out of the room.

“Hey, Stan?” Kenny calls from the doorway. “You _are_ the best and I believe in you. Victoria can suck it.”

Stan lits up with a smile and nods appreciatively. “Thanks, dude. That means a lot.” He heads for the kitchen and sets the box on the counter. He opens the cupboards to assess where to start then blinks dumbfoundedly at one of them. Why the heck does Kenny have so many boxes of coffee creamers and isn’t that the same brand the office uses?


	5. URINATING ON THE COPIER WILL NOT FIX IT. PLEASE CONTACT IT INSTEAD.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is bits of talking then NSFW then more talking.

Stan and Kyle sit side by side on a wooden bench that overlooks Stark’s Pond. They aren't sitting too close, so not to bring any unwanted attention. Words tend to travel in a small town like South Park, and the last thing either of them need is anyone who doesn't need to know getting wind of their relationship. It can get messy, and they both hate messy. So Stan keeps his free hand on his lap while he brings the hot cup of coffee to his lips. Beside him, Kyle watches the sky bleeds salmon and fuchsia. The last rays of the sun heighten Kyle's eyes, marking it a haven for Stan stay in against the oncoming evening.

“So did they ever get back to you?” Stan asks, gazing out at the clouds lining along the horizon. “Where are they sending you next?”

“It's not confirmed yet,” Kyle says, his breath hanging in the air. “I told them - well, I can't tell you what I told them, but they might consider letting me stay on for a few more months.”

“Oh, right, I get it.” Stan taps the tip of his nose. “You lied and told them we suck balls and need your help so you can stay here with me longer.”

Kyle chuckles, rubbing his gloved thumbs against his cup. “You see right through me. In any case, whatever they decide, I’ll know before the end of the year.”

“So… this can be, like… our last month together,” Stan mutters, lowering his eyes to the blanket of snow on the ground. “I mean, like, workwise. Working together.”

Kyle nods slowly, like he doesn’t want to accept it either. “It’s probably for the best. You’re kind of a pain to work with.”

“Says mister perfectionist who made Butters reprint his files because they weren’t hole-punched properly.”

“You’re supposed to align the sheets by the correct measurement,” Kyle says with an annoyed roll of his eyes. “That’s why there is a ruler on the hole puncher.”

Stan scoffs and smirks. “All I know is you killed a bunch of trees.”

“Excuse me for having standards,” Kyle bites back. He sips his tea then draws out a low sigh. “... I’ll still be around. Workwise.”

“Yeah, I know…” Stan turns the coffee in his hand, staring at a speck of dirt spoiling the snow. The words are heavy and he has to push them out. “What about… us-wise?”

“It won’t be easy,” Kyle answers, honest and cut to the bone. “But we can make it work if we put in the effort.”

It’s a bad idea to bring it up but Stan does it anyway. “Didn’t you… not make it work with Christophe because of the whole long-distance thing after college?”

Kyle stills, even his Adam’s apple seems to stop in mid-bob. He licks his lips and when he speaks, there is a hint of offense. “That’s - different. He was going back to France. The most you and I will have to deal with is a few states between us.”

“I guess so… ” Stan scratches his cheek, the wool of his glove chafing his skin. “You ever talk to him? You two still in touch or anything? Other than the flowers thing...”

Kyle’s gaze is loaded with perplexity as he hugs himself, as if the temperature has suddenly dropped fifty degrees. “We aren’t.” 

“Why not?” Stan turns his head and mentally wishes he learns how to shut up. “Just ‘cause you aren’t together doesn’t mean you can’t be friends, right? I mean, he sounds like he was a really big part of your life and... I don’t know… Are you happy with the way things are with him?”

“I’m with you now, Stan,” Kyle says instead. He searches Stan’s eyes; whatever it is he finds in them, it makes him lower his head almost pleadingly. “Whatever could have happened with Christophe, didn’t. We both made our choice. There is no point to dwell on the what-ifs.”

“I’m just saying…” Stan drags on, scrapping the nape of his neck with nervous fingers. “If you need, like, closure or something.”

Kyle sighs and sets down the tea over his laps with both hands holding it. “I’ll be honest... If there comes a day we run into each other somehow or he shows his face at my door, no, I’m not going to beat him away with a stick. But I’m also not holding my breath, waiting for that to happen. He’s someone I’ll always cherish. He shaped so much of who I am, but I’ve moved on. He’s a past. That’s what he is and that's where he’ll stay.”

Stan presses his lips into a line and looks back at the frozen water. Even though Kyle insists otherwise, he can’t get his head around the thought that Kyle has really, truly moved on. After all, the vase that holds Christophe’s latest anniversary gift still sits in Kyle’s room despite the fact that all the flowers wilted a few weeks ago. It’s a clear indication that Christophe may not be as insubstantial to his life as Kyle makes him out to be.

“Stan…”

“No, yeah, sorry, I shouldn’t have brought that up… I wanna make it work too,” Stan says, almost too quickly and sounding like he’s trying to convince himself than Kyle. “We still got almost a month to figure things out, right? And who knows, you may actually stay so… I’m not scared of losing you yet.”

“You aren’t going to lose me,” Kyle says. He shies his hand over and clasps it over Stan’s. “Not like this.”

Even if he doesn’t like it, he can’t fault Kyle for holding onto Christophe. It’s not like he doesn’t think about Wendy or Gary or his high school prom date that he threw up on and all the could-have-beens in between then and Kyle. The least he can do, he figures, is put up a fight. Like Kenny said, it could be a waste of time or it could be something. He should at least try to see it to the end with Kyle.

“And definitely not without a fight.” Stan turns his hand and squeezes Kyle back. He can feel the warmth radiating through the fabric of the glove and smiles lazily. 

“Now, don’t go breaking anyone’s nose for me,” Kyle says with a smirk.

Stan grins playfully. “Hey, if someone insults your honor, I’ll break their leg if I have to.”

“So chivalrous, but I can defend myself just fine.”

“Aww, why can’t you just let me be your knight in shining armor?”

“I’m not a damsel in distress,” Kyle scoffs.

“Nah, you can be, like… a king. A king needs knights, doesn’t he? A warrior to protect him? Maybe kisses him sometimes when the army and the queen aren’t looking?”

Kyle cocks his brows and chuckles. “Have you been watching too much Game of Thrones?”

“Maybe a little… The guys all are into it.” Stan sips his coffee and glances sideways at Kyle, who’s turned to watch the sun dip into the pond. 

The fading sun casts an ethereal glow onto Kyle, his eyelashes seemingly catching the light. He puffs through soft lips, the tip of his nose and the apples of his cheeks tinted red by the cold. His gaze is gentle, holding up the universe in them.

“You’re staring,” Kyle says without turning, his smile a beacon in the growing darkness.

“Huh? Am I?”

“You aren’t subtle about it either.”

“I can’t help it,” Stan says with a lopsided grin. “You’re just so good to look at.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” Kyle says, rolling his eyes. “What do you want with me?”

“Well... I really want to kiss you. Really bad.”

“I thought we agreed no PDA,” Kyle says. He smirks, that impish nature he usually holds down rears its head. “I guess we have to go somewhere else then.”

“I guess we do,” Stan says. He takes a quick survey to make sure there isn't anyone he recognizes. Then he sneaks up on Kyle with an arm around his waist and kisses him. He meant for it to be quick and simple, but maybe it’s because of the conversation they just had, he can’t bring himself to break apart until Kyle hitches out of air and signals for him to let go.

Kyle blinks, dazed for a moment, and Stan has to push back the urge to go in for another kiss. “You just couldn’t wait, could you?” Kyle hooks a finger around Stan’s pinky and leads them back to town.

As soon as they’re through the door of the hotel room, the hats come off first. Stan plows his hands through Kyle’s hair. He locks one hand behind Kyle's neck to keep their mouths together and the other hand shakingly frees Kyle out of his clothes. Kyle does the same in return, unbuttoning Stan’s jacket and playfully running his cold hands over Stan’s toned stomach.

Stan flinches and groans against Kyle’s mouth. He pries their lips apart long enough to pull Kyle’s top over his head. His heart flutters frantically against his ribcage, like a bird reaching for freedom. His brain blinks on and off at the sight of Kyle’s tousled hair and blushing skin. Compared to him, Kyle's far more composed and steady. Even the way he falls onto the bed is graceful. Insightful eyes gaze up at him, welcoming him to let loose. 

Stan strips out of his undershirt, letting it join the rest of his clothes on the floor, and climbs on top of Kyle. He cruises his lips along Kyle's jawline. His hands roam across Kyle’s torso. “Is this all right?” he asked against Kyle's lower lip. “I know we said we were gonna take it slow.”

Kyle chuckles, soundless, and navigates Stan’s hand over the line of his cock hard beneath his boxer brief. “I think we're a little late for that now.” He pushes up onto his elbows to kiss Stan. It’s tender and reassuring. “I want you.”

Stan smiles into the kiss, cupping Kyle by the chin to keep him there. “You have me,” he whispers then helps Kyle down onto his back again. He maps his tongue across Kyle’s freckled chest. His teeth take note of points of interest, marking places that captivates his attention. 

Kyle arches into him, breathless with hands pressing at Stan’s shoulders to invite him to explore further south. “... Come on, Stan.”

“God, so demanding. Can’t wait, can you?” Stan takes off Kyle’s briefs then the last of his own clothes. He kneels on the bed, fitting himself between Kyle’s sprawled legs. His hands slide over Kyle’s knees then up over the smooth thighs. The skin is paler as it nears Kyle’s crotch and warm under his touch, almost as hot as he feels watching the heaves of Kyle’s chest.

“Hey, uh, you got any lube?” Stan asks, his fingers revisiting the spots he marked on Kyle’s torso.

Kyle shakes his head and laughs quietly. “Do I look like the kind of person who has lube lying around?”

“I don’t know - you’re always so prepared. I thought you’d have everything.” Stan smirks, tracing a line down Kyle’s abs, watching the muscles flex and shy under his touch. “How about a condom?” At Kyle’s head shake, he exhales slowly and chuckles. “We probably could’ve planned this better.”

“Well, do you want to go to the stores and get some?”

Stan shrugs with his head to the side. He gestures to his own aching erection and says, “Not really presentable.”

Kyle laughs again, his chin turning up and his head pressing into the sheet. He breathes out almost in a sigh. When he looks at Stan again, his eyes are gleaming with desire and his hand is reaching down between them. He curls around Stan’s cock and gives it a light stroke, testing the water. “You won’t be much better after I’m done with you.”

Stan hisses, shamelessly bucking into Kyle’s loose grip. He catches his breath and mutters, “Whoever is more presentable by the end of this has to get out to the Wall-Mart. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Stan drags Kyle by the hips closer to him while he scoots forward until their cocks are aligned. He moves forward towering over Kyle and gazes down at the flushed body presented for him. He leans down for a hasty kiss, bracing a hand on Kyle’s chest. “You're going down, Broflovski.”

“We’ll see about that, Marsh.” Kyle locks his hands and ankles around Stan. It’s obscene the way he rocks into Stan - rolling first with his hips, then his stomach, next his chest raises upward and finally following through with his head to graze his tongue against Stan’s parted mouth.

“Fuck - “ Stan breathes, furrowing his brows at the shivers trickling from the head to the base of his spine. He curls his fingers into the sheet. Half-lidded eyes take in the haughtiness in Kyle’s smirk. He scoffs, “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Don’t come before I do then,” Kyle responds.

“Hey, that’s my line,” Stan says. He folds in, resting his weight on his elbows, and sucks on Kyle’s bottom lip in retaliation. He digs his teeth in, a sharp inhale flies out of Kyle, and reaches below them to tug on Kyle’s cock. He only relents when Kyle cards his hands through his hair and _pulls_. “ - Ouch.”

“You aren’t playing fair,” Kyle grunts. 

“You’re one to talk. You were cheating,” Stan says with a beaming lopsided grin.

“Such accusation,” Kyle drawls out and pulls Stan close, silencing him with a long-winded kiss. 

Stan shifts as he sinks in for the kiss. The space between their bodies vanish. Their mouths meet at the same rhythm as their hips clashing against each other. Every push Stan gives forward, Kyle receives him in return. His ears is acutely attuned to all the sounds around him: the steady complains of the mattress, skin pressing into the cotton bedsheet, the sound of Kyle's cock catching against his.

“This is - ah, _God_ \- okay, this is turning out pretty okay,” Stan says, his forehead hovering just above Kyle’s.

“I can make it better.” Kyle’s fingers are on a rampage, nails pressing into Stan’s shoulders, drawing lines down his back, then coming to a halt on his outer thighs. He guides Stan to lift his hips up so he can sit up onto his elbow and hold both of them in one hand. He squeezes from the base to halfway up, then goes down again before sliding the whole way over the tips. He circles his thumb over Stan, smearing the precome around.

“Shit - that’s - ah fuck - that’s against the rules,” Stan hisses out in between a groan and a moan. 

“You did it first,” Kyle says. He flicks his wrist in small jerks, teasing them just a bit below the heads.

“Uh, no, you did it before I did so technically you should be disqualified,” Stan blabbers, dipping his head low. He chews on his lower lip to stop a string of curse words that come out anyway. “Kyle - _fucking hell_ , you’re - ah - really getting off on this, aren't you?”

“I like watching you lose.”

“I haven’t lost yet,” Stan bites back. His biceps tense to support his weight as he slides forward and backward in a steady pace. Kyle has the easy part; he just holds them together, giving a harder squeeze here and there to change things up, while Stan does all the work. Not that Stan minds. The view beneath him alone makes it worth the while. He counts Kyle’s eyelashes and the freckles that span like a galaxy from his cheeks to his flushed chest. His eyes retrace the rosy patches where he staked his claim and the swollen lips panting his name like a mantra. 

“You’re staring again,” Kyle mumbles, his voice low and raw.

This is probably the worst time to think he's falling in love, but oh god, he thinks he's falling in love. And not just because he's coming. 

Oh god, he's coming.

“Aww shit---” His hands clutch into the sheet. He sinks his teeth into his lip to stifle his shout, his body tensing then slowing to a lax stop. He dips his chin, his eyes squeezing shut and his teeth baring into a grimace at the aftershock. “Fuck… Damn it…!”

“I win.”

He hears Kyle's smile and feels a hand treading into his hair while the other pumps the last bits out of him. “Ughh,” is all he says before he flops on top of Kyle and buries his face in the crook of his neck. 

Kyle wraps his arms around Stan’s back, tucking his chin against his temple. Stan nuzzles further in and sighs against the warm sweaty bliss. An unfamiliar sense of ease greets him and invites him into Kyle's embrace. It's safe. It's secure. It feels like coming home after a hard day at work and forgetting his problems just for a couple of hours. He kisses Kyle’s neck and holds it there, as if he's afraid if he breaks contact, Kyle would evaporate into bubbles. Kyle's fingers write poems over his skin better than his words ever could and the soft rise and fall of his heart is a song he can listen to on repeat. He presses his nose into Kyle's hair and breathes him in. 

He's falling head first and so fast and hard, it's ridiculous.

“Stan?” Kyle calls out after a moment, his fingers pausing on Stan's lower back. “... Aren't you going to finish me off?”

Stan shakes his head, the red curls tickling his nose. “Nope.”

“Stan.” Kyle turns his head and nudges him. When Stan makes no motion of answering his plea, he grumbles, “Seriously? You're being a sore loser.”

“Yes, I am,” Stan mutters facedown into the sheet. “I think I'm gonna take a nap now. Losing makes me so tired.”

If Stan thinks Kyle’s going to give up and let him off easy, he would be out of his damn mind. Kyle tilts his head at an angle and brushes his lips over the shell of Stan’s ear. His fingers dance in featherlight steps up Stan's spine. His words are as wet and vile as his hip roll crashing into Stan and making him shudder. “Stan… _Come on_. Don't you want to see me come?”

“Well… when you put it that way…” 

Stan begrudgingly gets up onto his knees and wraps a hand around Kyle. It’s slick with sweat and come and so good to look at. He strokes in a exaggeratedly slow pace and alternates his gaze between the cock twitching in his palm and the flutters of Kyle's eyelashes. 

“Now you’re just being mean.” Kyle hikes his knees up and clenches against Stan. He braces himself on Stan’s arms, manicured nails marring the skin. He bucks, his whole body rising upward, and tilts his head back. He breathes in shaky gasps and whines a series of incoherent noises. “Come on - Stan, I just need a - Please.”

“You’re so beautiful.” Stan’s heart thrashes in his chest, his ears fill with the syllables of his name falling out of Kyle's mouth. He has half a mind to go through with the deal to grab the condom and lube so he can take Kyle for the rematch. He tightens his grip, squeezing and moving at a faster pace, mesmerized by the feel of Kyle writhing because of him. “... It’s not fair.”

Kyle grabs Stan’s wrist with one hand and the other grasps at the sheet. He lifts his head off the bed and stares intently at Stan, his eyes blown wide with parted lips crying, “Stan - That’s it - _Yes_ \- that’s it -” Then he’s coming with a breathless moan of Stan’s name and splattering over Stan’s still going hand. His chest raises up in a desperate need to refill his lungs. He throws his head back to the bed, exposing his throat that Stan mercilessly attacks. 

They take a moment to find the self they lost in each other. Kyle’s eyes are closed, and Stan leaves a trail of kisses like breadcrumbs to know his way around this land he still has so much to explore. He runs a finger up to connect the scattered marks across Kyle’s body that read, _I was here. I was here. I was here_. 

Then Kyle opens his eyes, smiling so softly it hurts Stan in all the right ways, and Stan smiles back in full, brushing his thumb over the modicum of freckles then pinching Kyle’s nose and making him squeeze his eyes shut again in protest.

“I won’t lose next time,” Stan says, sitting up to stretch.

“Oh?” Kyle looks up, choosing to laze on the bed instead. “Who says there’ll be a next time?”

“Uh - of course there’s gonna be a next time. You think I’m gonna let you win this round and just leave at it that?”

“Hmm, you’re going to embarrass yourself again,” Kyle teases with a smirk.

“That’s what you think. Let’s be real, we both know I went easy on you.”

Kyle scoffs and cocks his brow. “You went easy on me? Really?”

“Hell yeah I did.” Stan leans down and catches Kyle with a hard kiss. “Next time, I’m gonna fuck you so hard you can’t sit for a week.”

Kyle laughs, his eyes crinkling, and pushes Stan away. “You talk a big game. Let’s see if you can actually pull it off.”

“It’s on,” Stan says then bounces off the bed. He gathers his clothes and gestures for the bathroom. “I’m gonna hit the shower. Then, dinner? At the mall? I still need to pick up the present for the Secret Santa thing.”

“Sure and you can go to Wall-Mart afterward and follow through your end of the deal.” Kyle rolls up and over and rescues his work phone beneath under his clothes.

“Hey, hey, hey, what do you think you’re doing?” Stan waggles a finger. “No, no, no, it's Saturday. You aren’t working.”

“I’m checking a couple of emails. That’s all,” Kyle says, frowning like it’s not a big deal.

“No, nuh-uh, no, put that away.” Stan takes a step forward and warns, “Bad Kyle. Don’t make me spank you.”

“You aren’t allowed to do that anymore,” Kyle points out, shooting a quick glance down to the screen and clicking away at something. “Mackey said so.”

“At work, yeah, but we aren’t in the office. C’mon, Kyle...” Stan slacks his shoulders, rocking his head to the side. “You’re always working. You can take care of whatever it is on Monday. Just relax for 48 hours, man. Put that down. Please… for me?”

“All right, all right, Fine… I can’t take you seriously when you’re naked.” Kyle throws a hand up and presses a smile. “Can I at least check Amazon for a standing desk since I’m apparently not going to be able to sit for a week in the coming future?”

“Go for it. Get me one too since they’re good for you or whatever,” Stan grins with a nodding approval. He watches Kyle scoot back into a comfortable position then shoos him to the shower with a hand. He sighs and lingers for a moment longer, collecting every piece of Kyle into his memory, like he’s scared that when he comes out of the shower, Kyle won’t be here anymore.

At 6:48 on a quiet Saturday evening in December, Stan thinks, in spite of the tumultuous feeling in his stomach he has no words for, his life is only going to get better from here out on.


	6. ANY ACTIVITY IN THE STOREROOM UNRELATED TO STORING SUPPLIES IS PROHIBITED

It's 11:36 when Bebe calls and tells Stan to bring his ass, the tub of lard, and the tall glass of gay up to see Victoria. It takes a moment to gather Cartman and another to figure that the other person is supposed to be Craig. He shuffles uneasily outside Victoria's door, feeling like a kid sent to the principal’s office for something he doesn’t know he did wrong. Meanwhile Craig leans against the wall, staring at nothing in particular and looking oddly at ease, and Cartman tries to chat Bebe up in her room with a conversation she's clearly not interested in having. 

None of them talk to each other. None of them have for the whole day, but Stan holds onto the hope that eventually things will go back to normal (as normal as it can be for them, anyway.) It’s only Craig’s first day back after his suspension; they just need time. At least that’s what Stan’s going to keep telling himself until it happens.

They wait for a little over 10 minutes before Victoria calls Bebe to call them in. Filing in one by one, Stan immediately feels his chest tighten seeing that Garrison, as well as Mackey, are both in the room. It's nothing out of the ordinary for Mackey to be around; he's more or less Victoria's lapdog (no offense, Mackey is probably one of the few decent people at this company.) But Garrison is as good of a surprise as finding a flaming bag of dog poop on his porch. The last time he saw Garrison was when Kyle first arrived. Then he vanished, going on one of his business trips to who-knows-where and doing who-knows-what. In his stint here at HOE, Stan knows that Garrison only shows up when shit is about to go down.

Victoria gestures for them to sit down on the couch against the wall, since the two chairs in front of her desk are taken up by Garrison and Mackey. Cartman purposely spreads his legs to force Stan closer toward Craig, effectively squeezing Craig against the armrest. If it bothers Craig having Stan jammed up against him, he sure does a good job not showing it.

“Thanks for coming, gentlemen. We won’t keep you for long,” Victoria says with a rehearsed smile as she sets her hands over her desk atop some files. “Tucker, it's good to have you back. I hope you've taken the time to think about your actions.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Craig nods.

“And Cartman.” Victoria presses her lips into a line as she takes in the bruise on Cartman’s face. “You're looking better.”

“Thank you, Miss Victoria,” Cartman says with an exaggerated smile. “It’s so nice to know you care.”

“Of course! We’re a little family here,” Victoria lies with her eyes open. “We take care of each other, don’t we, Herbert?”

Garrison mutters something under his breath that everyone heard but pretends they didn’t. “If we can get the point… We have that conference call at twelve o’clock.”

“Right. Cartman, Tucker.” Victoria pauses and looks at Stan with a sterner expression than she gave the other two. “Marsh. The three of you are some of our most senior employees here. As such, we have a certain level expectation for you.”

“You’re all very good at your current position, m’kay,” Mackey jumps in quickly then quiets at Victoria’s glance.

“I’m not going to lie.” Victoria pushes her glasses up and swallows a sigh. “We haven’t exactly impressed Corporate with our little… incident. As you know, this is a rather critical time for all of us here and well, they aren’t happy and frankly neither are we.”

“Uh, Miss Victoria, if I may…” Cartman raises his hand then speaks after Victoria’s go-ahead. “I’m deeply ashamed by what happened. I think we all are. I don’t like pointing fingers, but I think if anyone needs to be blamed, it should be Stan.”

Stan tenses his neck, fighting against the urge to stare at Cartman, who goes on without any remorse or consideration of the bullshit he’s spewing.

“I think we can all agree it’s his lack of leadership that got us where we are. He should probably… I don’t know…. get fired. Or demoted, at least. It'll send a message to Corporate that we take our failures very seriously,” Cartman says then places his hands over his laps to indicate that he’s done. “That’s just my opinion.”

“Eric, we aren’t going to fire anyone, m’kay,” Mackey says with a hint there is a “yet” left out at the sentence. “What happened has happened. We need to move forward, m’kay.”

Victoria nods and says, “We have to come together more than ever, which is why I’ve decided to assign you on a special project. You’re all smart and capable. Consider this a chance to redeem yourselves and rebuild our image to Corporate. Any question?”

If Craig wanted to say something, he doesn’t open his mouth to make a sound. It’s Cartman who leans so far forward he almost falls off the couch. 

“I don't feel comfortable with this suggestion,” Cartman says, giving a side glance to Craig, who promptly and not subtly flips him off. “I'm worried about my safety. Craig is a danger to my well-being.” 

“Oh please.” Garrison scoffs, swinging his leg and looking at Cartman with a smirk. “I’ve been in the crapper after you took a dump. Your well-being is the last thing on your mind.”

Cartman frowns, his mouth agap. Before he can say anything, Victoria clears her throat and commands everyone's attention. 

“This is a very good opportunity for all of you. It’s high risk, yes, but also high reward,” Victoria says, pushing up her glasses even though they aren’t falling. “I trust you'll all comply and succeed. I’m giving you a month to come up with a new idea. A new innovation. Something that will reaffirm our status in the industry and really impress Corporate.”

“Find a way to make us ton of money, boys,” Garrison explains in simpler term. “Short of anything illegal, of course.”

To someone not paying attention, they may not have noticed the way Craig lights up with excitement. After all, he looks exactly the same on the outside if not for the bits of sparks in his eyes. He says, “Guinea pigs.”

“No,” Victoria says firmly and immediately with a finger up. “I think we’ll leave the brainstorming to Cartman. He _is_ the mind behind our our crack baby athletic association.”

Cartman beams proudly. “It won’t be easy, Miss Victoria, but I’m willing to put aside our differences for the betterment of the company. We're a family after all.”

“That’s what we like to hear, Eric,” Mackey says then looks to the other two. “Stanley, Craig, we want the three of you to get along, m’kay. That means no more fighting. Fighting is bad, m’kay.” 

“Unless it’s crack babies doing it,” Craig says blankly.

“Oh, shut up, Craig. We’re making bank on those YouTube views. The two of you going at it like baboons isn’t,” Garrison says then thinks to himself. “Or maybe…”

“Now… is there any word as to the level of compensation we’ll receive?” Cartman asks smoothly. “Perhaps a raise or an extended lunch break? A key to the exec restroom so our privacy is not invaded?”

“We’ll consider that and let you know. Marsh,” Victoria calls out. She sets her attention on Stan, wearing a look that dares him to defy her. “You're quiet. You have any objection?” 

“No, ma’am, uh - I think this is great,” Stan says then forces a smile. “This will be a great learning opportunity for us. I can’t wait to get started.”

Cartman coughs “suck up” into his fist then smiles sickeningly sweetly. Craig draws a low sigh, his shoulders slacking slightly. 

“Wonderful. I expect a preliminary proposal by... let’s say after Christmas, before the New Year.” Victoria’s mouth moves into a smile but the joy doesn’t reach her eyes. “This is exciting time for us. I'm counting on all of you. That’s all for today. Marsh, please stay. The rest of you may go.”

Even with Cartman and Craig leaving, Stan doesn't reposition himself on the couch. The sound of the door closing is thunders to his ears. He sits stiffly with a straight back and keeps his eyes on Victoria, trying not to stare but not like he doesn’t want to make eye contact either.

A silence lasting a few seconds takes over before Victoria puts her elbows on the desk and perches her chin atop her linked hands. 

“Marsh, I'm afraid we have some bad news,” Victoria says, lowering her eyes for a moment. “Testaburger turned in her resignation this morning. It's very sudden and we’re all very sadden by this loss.”

“Oh,” is probably not the right response but it’s the first one that comes to Stan’s mind. His head isn't processing the information. He can’t begin to wrap his head around why Wendy isn’t coming back and what domino effect that will have on the rest of them. “That… sucks.”

“So poetic,” Garrison mutters.

“Corporate has someone in mind to take her place,” Mackey says. “There are still some details we have to sort out so it’s not confirmed yet. We just wanted to give you a heads-up, m’kay. So you'll be ready for the upcoming changes.”

“Don’t nut though. It’s not you,” Garrison helpfully points out.

“Oh,” Stan says again and hates that he feels relieved. Not that he's expecting to be manager, but there is a weight off his shoulders. He needs the help, he knows it. Someone coming in, as much as it looks bad on him, is going to be a godsend. “Is Pete…?”

“Is he the one that crapped his pants in the boardroom?” Garrison asks with a sharp laugh. “I wouldn't come back if I were him. Can you imagine?”

“Explosive diarrhea syndrome is a very serious illness, m’kay,” Mackey says with a somber nod. “He's taking the time he needs to recover. Don't worry, Stanley, he's going to be okay.”

“You should worry about yourself,” Garrison says without any sympathy. “Screw up again and it's your pants that are gonna be covered in metaphorical shit.”

Mackey tries to clarify, “What Mr. Garrison means to say---”

“What we all mean to say,” Victoria cuts Mackey off, “is that this is your last chance, Marsh.” Her gaze is as cold as the temperature outside. “ _Our_ last chance. I think we’ve been more than patient with your lack of progress. Don't let us down anymore.”

Stan nods, digging his nails into his palms. “I won’t, ma’am. I’ll do better.”

Victoria smiles again. For a moment, she looks as motherly and as kind as the person he met at his interview three years ago. Whatever happened to her, Stan hopes it won't happen to him down the line. He leaves at Victoria’s instruction and lingers outside the door for a moment. The muffled conversation inside the room go unheard while he tries to fully break in the news. It hits him a little too slow and too hard at the same time.

He passes by Bebe’s door. Bebe glances up briefly then looks back at her computer again. The questions he wants to ask are left inside him as he heads back downstairs and stops at his desk. He is sitting halfway down before he changes his mind. He grabs a pack of smokes from his drawer then goes up to the roof through the fire escape door.

It's quiet here, more so in the winter when the snow smothers everything. Stan likes coming now and then when he needs to clear his head from a practically hard day. Today seems like as hard of a day as any. He lights a cigarette, leaning close to the snow-covered railing, and glares down at the town below like it’s wronged him. 

Wendy’s gone, and if he doesn’t pull the team together, he’s going to be next. Sure, it’s just a job at the end of the day to pay the bills, but the thought that he might get fired isn’t one he wants to entertain. He loses track of how long he stays up here before the creak of the door behind him snaps him out of his thoughts. 

“Hey there, blue eyes,” Kenny’ says, shuffling forward. “You alone? Come here often?”

Stan blows out a puff of cigarette smoke then buries the butt in the snow on the railing like a secret he wants to hide. He licks his lips and tastes the remnant of nicotine. Kenny brushes away a chunk of snow then leans his elbows up on the wet railing. He tilts his head up, facing the staircase door instead of the town.

“Shouldn't you be working?” Stan asks, keeping his eyes ahead.

“Shouldn't you quit smoking?” Kenny says with a curt chuckle.

“Dude, cut me some slack,” Stan grumbles. “This is - like the first one I had in like - six months.”

“When Gary left?” Kenny asks and when Stan doesn't answer, he gives a sympathetic pat to Stan's back. “I heard about Wendy. That blows, bro.”

“Yeah... whatever.” Stan flexes his cold fingers and itches to get another smoke. It's a bad stress relief, he knows, but there is a fulfilling satisfaction from doing something he doesn't let himself do often. “She probably never planned to come back in the first place.”

Kenny shrugs and says, “Bebe said she figured something out when she was away and just thought it’s time she needed to move on. But don't tell her I told you. It was a personal journey. For Wendy.”

“Sounds like bullshit to me.” Stan huffs, his anger as vivid as his breath hanging in the air. “If she wanted to quit, just fucking do it. She didn’t have to drag it out.”

“You can't be mad at her for leaving. There's greener pasture out there. She sounds like she’s having a good time in Saudi Arabia.”

“I'm not mad --- it's not about that.” Stan turns sideways to face Kenny with his elbow propped on the railing. “She just leaves? Like that? I mean, I get it, this place sucks balls and I don’t blame her for wanting to leave but I thought she’d at least give me a heads-up.” He turns his head as a frown takes hold of his face and lets out a shaky breath. “I mean... it's me. I kinda thought at least I get a text or something. _Hey, I'm not coming back. Good luck, loser_. But nothing… I don't even get a good bye.”

Kenny scoots over and puts his arm on Stan’s upper back. The angle is too awkward for a hug, and Stan doesn’t lean into his touch either way. “She didn't leave you here to rot. You can’t be pissed off at her or yourself.”

Stan groans and sidesteps to break out of Kenny’s pseudo hug. “I’m not pissed off. Stop saying that. I’m---”

“Scared?” Kenny is the one who turns this time. His gaze is as harsh and cold as the winter that taunts them. “‘cause Wendy's your first real love and now you’re losing her and you think it's your fault and you’re scared shitless you're gonna be left behind by everyone you love and care about and end up alone in this pissant town? How am I? Am I In the ballpark?” 

Stan’s silence speaks more than his words can. He lowers his head, staring at his shoes like they’ll save him from his misery. There was a time in his life when people, including himself, expected great things from him. He was smart. He had character - whatever that means. Then toward the end of high school, he somehow reached his peak and that was it. He didn’t get the football scholarship he thought he was going to get and had to settle for a second-rate college. He was a benchwarmer for the college team and an average student. Four uneventful and forgettable years later, he graduated with nothing to show for and ended up here working an average job for average pay. 

He’s no one special. He never was. Except when he’s with someone he loves and they make him feel less like a cog in a machine and more a person with value and significance. When he’s with them, he doesn’t feel like a failure. He doesn’t question his worth. If he can make someone happy, if he can make someone smile, then he can find a reason to go on. 

But now one of those people is leaving and he feels something dark and scary breaching through him.

Kenny squeezes Stan’s forearm, bringing his attention back. He says softly, “I hate to break it to you but Stan, you aren't a special snowflake. People don't owe you shit. They’re free to come and go as they like. Look, whatever it’s up with Wendy, it's good for her. You know it. You’re your own person and so is she. So get over yourself and just be happy for her, damn it.”

Stan sighs, long and low, and pinches his nose bridge as he squeezes his eyes shut to drown out the world. He feels the warmth radiating from Kenny’s body and tries not to notice how close Kenny’s standing to him. A glimpse of Wendy’s smile and a ghost of her voice crash his rib cage into his lungs. A pulsing ache he has no words for courses through his veins. His stomach twists into knots, and his heart wants to leap out of his chest and off the roof.

It's not like she's dead and gone forever, but he can't replace or get back the piece of him she took with her. He knows exactly now how Kyle feels about Christophe and understands a little better why Kyle hasn’t been able to fully let go.

“I don’t... I don’t want her to go,” Stan mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. “She means so much to me.”

“Maybe you should tell her that.” Kenny runs his hand down Stan’s back. He’s soft and gentle when he speaks. “It's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault. People just move on. You gotta too. Who you are is more than what they make you.” He brushes Stan’s cheek with a finger wrapped behind a coarsely woven glove. “Come on… you aren’t cute when you're bitter.”

Stan flutters open his eyes, blinking away the sadness in them. He sighs again then does his best smile even though it falls short. “Thanks, man… I guess I needed to hear that.”

“You got it, bro.” Kenny matches with a better smile and squeezes Stan’s arm one more time. “You got other shit to worry about, anyways. What are you gonna do with Eric and Craigster?”

Stan scoffs, rubbing his face quickly, then raises his brow. “And how did you hear about that?”

“I hear everything. I’m a receptionist. It’s my job to be receptive.”

Stan snorts then throws his head back in exasperation. “Dude, I have no fucking clue. Craig's pretty chill for the most part but Cartman knows how to push all his buttons. It's a fucking powder keg. And to top it off, they both hate me and Victoria thinks I suck. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do here.”

“Aww, they don't hate you.” Kenny nudges Stan with a cheeky grin. “They think you're an asshole but they don't hate you. As for Vicki, she’s right. You do suck _something_.”

Stan stops Kenny before he can make the punchline. “Wow, thanks, Kenny. You’re so good at making me feel better.”

“I got lots of other ways too if you want me to show you,” Kenny says, eyes glinting with mischief. “Look, you ever need help putting those two in their place, just lemme know. I know a thing or two about them that’ll keep them in check.”

Stan turns curiously toward Kenny. “Blackmailing, huh? Is that how you got Cartman to drop the whole lawsuit thing? I was pretty sure he would’ve sue the literal shit out of Craig.”

Kenny waves his hand dismissively. “He was never gonna go through with it. Eric likes things done quick and his way. A lawsuit is too long and too many hands. He might still got something he’ll pull on Craig but we don’t gotta worry about Craig ending up in jail. At least not because of this.”

Stan cocks his head and frowns. It sounds so easy. Too easy. “Just like that?”

“Well... It took some other persuasion.” Kenny broadens his smile coyly. “But that's between me, Eric, and the hot tub.”

Stan widens his eyes, processing the words, then grimaces with disgust. “No... Kenny. _Cartman_? Seriously? Dude!”

Kenny puts his fingers over his lips and winks. “I don't kiss and tell.”

“Aww man, I don’t think I can look at you the same anymore,” Stan jokes, turning his head away and covering his face.

“Hey, you’re still welcome to undress me with your eyes,” Kenny says and snakes an arm around Stan’s waist. “In fact, I insist you do it.”

“Nah, I think I’m good.” Stan wiggles away. Or at least, he tries but Kenny keeps a firmer hold on him than he did before. He stills and watches the sincerity in Kenny’s eyes grow.

“You’re a good man, Stan. You deserve to be happy. Don’t let yourself forget that,” Kenny says, patting Stan on the chest before finally releasing him. “Now let’s get back inside before I lose my balls. It’s fucking freezing up here.”

Stan nods, wordless and with a meek smile. His head replays over Kenny’s words like they’re the only things he knows. He doesn’t know why Kenny has so much faith in him, and he doesn’t know how to show his appreciation either. In the end, all he can say as he trails after Kenny down the stairs is, “If that happens, I’ll get a Kickstarter going so you can get prosthetic balls.”

“Aww, I had no idea you cared so much about my balls, Stan.” Kenny blows him a kiss from the bottom of the stairs. “I’ll let you be the first one to suck them. I bet they’ll be all nice and hard.”

Stan laughs, hands in his pockets. “I think that honor should go to Cartman.”

Kenny pouts then goes back to his desk. Stan sinks into his own chair then turns his head slightly to spy into Kyle’s office. Kyle glances away from his monitor seemingly at the same time. They look at each other for a brief moment. Kyle breaks into a small smile before he turns back to his work. Stan sighs to himself and takes out his phone. He searches through his contact and stops at Wendy’s name. His thumb lingers over it, contemplating how he should phrase what he wants to say without sounding pathetic or spiteful.

He’s halfway through typing “Hi Wen” when Butters skitters over and stands next to his desk, nervous as a child.

“Hey, Stan?” Butters says, grinding his knuckles together, with lowered eyes. “The, uh, copier, isn’t working again. Can you please take a look at it?”

“Did you try peeing on it again?” Clyde slips in and snickers.

“Oh um, Mr. Mackey says I can’t ever do that again,” Butters says, “It ain’t right. When my parents heard about it, they were so mad. I was grounded for a whole night!”

Stan rubs his temple and says, “I’m not IT, Butters. If the copier’s broken, call Kevin.”

“Oh all right…” Butters lowers his head. “I’m sorry I bothered ya, Stan. Just thought I should ask ya first ‘cuz you’re team leader and all. … Thought you could help me.”

Cartman laughs, short and loud, and sighs as he drags his finger under his eye. “Butters, you crack me up. Like Stan’s ever done shit for any of us.”

Stan puts down his phone, letting the words he doesn’t know how to say to Wendy be put on the back burner. He flags for Butters to stay as he gets up with full purpose. He says loud and clear for everyone to hear. “I’ll take a look, okay? You can always come to me. You can count on me. I’m here to help. All of you.”

He doesn’t know what reaction he’s expecting but the apathetic and jeering looks from his team tell him very plainly he failed. He failed them. He swallows and walks alongside Butters to the copier. It’s just a machine; it can’t be hard to figure out what’s wrong with it. It’ll be much easier than fixing people.

* * *

“Can we get Secret Santa over with so I can go home and not see you people for four days?” Clyde says, sliding down onto the conference table, and turns to face the tortilla presser with a bow stuck to the top.

“We have to wait. Kyle’s still in his meeting,” Stan says as he picks up his phone to check the time. “They should probably be done soon.”

"I still don’t understand why we had to invite him,” Cartman says with a roll of his eyes and his arms crossed. “He’s not even one of us.”

“Kevin’s not in our department but he’s here,” Scott points out, gesturing to Kevin seated at the end of the table.

“Neither is Kenny,” Bradley adds on.

“Kenny’s here because he gives out the worst gift. It’s funny,” Cartman says then turns to Kenny with a mocking laugh. “I know you’re poor, but try a little harder to reach the thirty dollar limit.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” Kenny says with a smug smirk. “Money can’t buy what I can give.”

“Hepatitis B?” Jason says, and the group laughs. 

“You guys, what I meant is Kyle’s a Jew,” Cartman says, and Stan groans immediately. “This is a Christmas party, did you forget? We’re here to celebrate the birth of our lord, Jesus Christ. And in case you forget, who was it that killed Jesus? Oh hmmm… Butters, do you remember who killed Jesus?”

“No - no. Don’t answer that,” Stan cuts in, pointing a finger at Butters to tell him to shut it. Then he points the finger at Cartman threateningly. “You. Say another word that I don’t like and I’ll have your ass reported straight to HR.”

“Ooooh, did Stan finally grow some hair on his baby balls?” Cartman teases with a fake gasp. “Or… could it have something to do with why you invited Kyle in the first place? Hmm? Are you sweet on the little Jew?”

“You invited me.” Kenny leans over tauntingly close to Cartman’s face. “Does that mean you’re sweet on me? Aww, Eric. You’re so cute.” 

“What - no! Shut up, Kenny!” Cartman shouts louder than necessary and shoves Kenny away. “I’m not Clyde!”

“What the hell does that mean?” Clyde sits up and narrows his eyes at Cartman across the way. It’s not the kind of conversation Stan wants them to be having but at least they’re talking to each other. It’s a progress he has to accept.

“Please, everyone knows you invited Kevin because you want to tap that ass,” Cartman says with a spitting scoff. “I didn’t think you would go for the nerd.”

Clyde’s cheeks flush as red as the bow on his present. Kevin, on the other hand, looks up blankly, seemingly having missed the conversation since his attention was on his phone. Cartman laughs, hands over his belly, and might have said something more if Craig didn’t glance his way, challenging him to keep going and he’ll send him to the morgue this time.

In the lapse of talking, Stan takes the chance to say, “Kyle will be here soon and we can do the gift exchange then go home to our family. Everyone, just, chill here for a bit, okay?”

“Maybe I can s-s-sing a song to pass the time. I’ve been working on a new ma-ma-mashup I think we’ll all enjoy,” Jimmy says.

The replies are a mix of polite declinations and flat-out no’s. Jimmy’s rendition of 12 Days of Christmas last year was more like 12 years of Drag. Jimmy huffs and sinks into his chair, turning his head the other way.

“So when is the little snitch leaving?” Cartman asks, looking over at Stan like he holds all the answers. “He’s only supposed to be here for three months, right? Is he going soon?”

“Thank God,” Token says with a lengthy sigh. “I can’t think straight with him breathing down my neck. He’s such a pain.”

“He hasn’t really helped us either, has he?” Scott says and also looks to Stan. “Have we really did better since he came?”

“A little,” Stan says, his eyes darting off to the side for a moment. “I mean, it’s a long progress, you know. It’s not gonna happen overnight. The things he did aren’t going to show results until later. It takes time. We just gotta be patient and stick to them. Kyle knows what he’s doing.”

“I’m just glad we’re all still here,” Tweek says with a relieved smile. “I thought he was going to fire one of us for sure. Ugh ack - Maybe he still will! He still has time!”

“Hey, maybe he has something to do with Wendy,” Clyde brings up. “She was gone for so long not doing anything but still getting paid. That’s gotta be right up his alley.”

“I thought she resigned,” Craig says.

“That’s what they always call it, to make it look better,” Cartman latches on and nods. “You might be onto something here, Clyde.”

“Can we not start with the conspiracy theory?” Stan says, raising his hands to quiet the room. “Look, you don’t have to worry, all right? You’ve all been doing great.” He wears a confident smile, hoping he can instill the same confidence in his team but all he gets is blase stares. “Just keep doing what you’re doing and everything's gonna turn out okay.”

“Yeah, lighten up, dudes, it’s Christmas!” Kenny beams, the bell on his Santa’s hat jingling a little.

“Kenny’s right,” Butters chirps happily, his matching hat jingling as well. “Fellas, we oughta be jolly and all and enjoy each other’s company and count our blessings.”

“I’m gonna pray for a Christmas miracle.” Cartman closes his eyes as he puts his hands in prayer over his chest. “Please, Santa, please deliver us from Stan. Give us someone who knows his shit to lead us. Me, perhaps? And how’s that endless fountain of KFC gravy coming along?” 

A trio of footsteps pacing closer draws the room’s attention. Victoria walks in first, dressed in a pink sweater over a pantsuit that doesn’t show any holiday spirits. Behind her then stepping up is Kyle, equally not dressed in anything excessively festive but lights up the room with his presence either way. (At least, to Stan, he does.) Lastly, Mackey trails in as anticipated.

Stan shifts in his chair and stands up, wondering if Victoria’s planning to stay and offering his seat if she does. It’s probably unnecessary; Victoria doesn’t ever mingle with the first-floorers.

“Finally, here’s the j-o-o. Ruining Christmas, of course,” Cartman mutters under his breath.

“Oh, you’re all here. Wonderful,” Victoria says, hands clapped together as she takes in the sight with a pressed smile. “What’s this? Secret Santa? Oh, how nice.”

“Would you like to join us?” Stan asks. “We always have an extra present just in case.”

Victoria declines as expected with a quick wave of her hand. “No, no, I don’t want to intrude. I won’t take long.” She takes a breath and addresses the whole room. “As you may be aware, Testaburger has left us to pursue other interests, and we’re all very happy for her. I know it goes without saying she was an important and integral part of your department. Not just as your manager but as a mentor, a peer, and a friend.” She pushes her glasses and looks at each person present (except for Kenny and Kevin, who didn’t work under Wendy.) “It wasn’t easy finding a fitting replacement, but after a throughout discussion and with Corporate’s guidance and approval, I’d like to re-introduce Broflovski to you and ask you all to welcome him as your new manager effective today.”

Stan’s mind goes blank when Victoria turns and gestures at Kyle with both hands. Kyle smiles, professional and practiced, and Stan feels like he’s going to throw up all his organs. His heart detaches itself and plummets to the pit of his stomach. His lungs move out of rhythm. His head swims in darkness risen from his core.

Victoria goes on, “Now you’ve all worked with Broflovski, and you know how able he is. I want you to give him your support like you’ve been doing and really make him part of the family going forward. Okay?”

The room nods and answers in uneven “okay”s. Asides from Stan, Tweek looks like he might faint and Cartman’s nostrils are flared wide. Everyone else, however, seems to accept the announcement without any reservation. Kenny, out of all of them, looks the one least surprised.

“Kyle, would you like to say a few words?” Mackey asks from behind the two.

Kyle steps up with ease, like he’s been prepared for this moment his whole life. He gives everyone equal eye contact as he says, “I’m not going to try to replace what Ms. Testaburger has meant to you. I will only try to pick up where she left off. This is a new transition for me, as well as for all of you. There will be many questions I’ll have to ask and lessons I’ll need to learn from you. I want to thank all of you in advance for your support and patience. I know I’ll need it. I have confidence in our abilities. I know we can accomplish remarkable achievement together as a team.” He lingers his eyes on Stan for maybe half a second longer than everyone else. “I’m very happy and excited to see where we can go.”

1:42 in the afternoon on December 22 is the pinpoint moment Stan Marsh feels like his life is falling apart.


	7. ILLEGAL DRUGS DO NOT QUALIFY FOR COMPANY REIMBURSEMENT

“Did you know?”

Stan closes the door behind him. On the other side, the office gradually quiets down as people leave for the holidays. Footsteps are light and joyful and can’t wait to get out of the confine and the stress of their job fast enough. Stan would’ve joined them too. Hell, about 30 minutes ago, he thought he would be one of the first ones blazing out of here with Kyle in tow, talking his ear off about what he has planned for their one-month anniversary tomorrow. Instead, he’s still here in the office, cornering Kenny in the storeroom while Kyle was whisked away by Mackey for a briefing over his new duties.

Kenny sets down the box of holiday decorations and turns to face Stan fully. “Wow. Me, you, storage closet. This is like my porn fantasy coming true.”

“Dude! Why didn't you tell me?”

Kenny narrows his eyes. “Why didn't Kyle tell you? This should've come from him. Not me.”

“I don’t know.” Stan throws his face into his hands. “This whole thing is fucked! Why does this keep fucking happening to me?!”

“Karma? You fucked your uncle in a past life and now it's all getting back to you.”

“I can't go through this again. I can't. Wendy, Gary, and now Kyle, too? What the fuck? Can I catch a fucking break?”

Kenny comes closer and puts his hand on Stan’s shoulder. “Hey, here’s an idea. Quit your job. Go on unemployment the rest of your life so you won't end up sleeping with your boss ever again.”

Stan glances up from his hands and asks, “How much does unemployment give out? Can I live off that?”

“A sugar daddy might help. The older they are, the better. A GDILF. That’s a gold mine.” Kenny slaps Stan on the forearm. “I'm kidding. Don't even think about it.”

“Why not? What the hell else am I gonna do?”

“Talk to him,” Kenny says like it’s a no-brainer. “Or break up with him if it really bothers you that much. What's more important? Kyle or your principles?”

“Aww no…” Stan brushes off Kenny’s hands. “It doesn't have to go that far…. We just started dating. I really like him. Like, a lot. He makes me feel… me, you know what I mean?”

Kenny raises his brow. “No, I don’t.”

“Ugh, you wouldn’t understand… Kyle’s just… different, you know, I don’t know how to explain, but I can’t just call it quit.” Stan shifts his weight as he crosses his arms and looks at Kenny. “And weren’t you the one who egged me on? All that stuff about seeing how it ends and what not. Now you want me to break up with him?”

“That was before I knew he was going to screw you over,” Kenny says with a coldness Stan didn’t know he’s capable of.

“Dude, it’s not like that, okay? You don’t get it. You don’t know him like I do,” Stan says stiffly, with a tone he’s never taken with Kenny before. “Kyle wouldn’t do this on purpose. I mean - there’s gotta be a reason why he didn’t say anything. Maybe they - they offered it to him on the spot and he couldn’t say no.”

“Or he didn’t tell you because he doesn’t care. Even though he knows how you feel about this.”

“Stop it.” Stan evolves his gaze into a stare. He’s never been angry with Kenny. Kenny’s the closest thing he has to a best friend, but he can’t stand by and not defend Kyle either. “You don’t know why he didn’t say anything.”

“Neither do you.” Kenny doesn’t break eye contact. “That’s why you’re hiding here, trying to get it out of me, instead of doing what you should be doing. Oh, and for the record, I found out from Bebe so that’s one more person who knew before you did so trust me, Stan, he knew. He knew and he didn’t fucking tell you. So, what is _it_ if it’s not like that?”

“Well, I fucking can’t ask him now, can I? He’s in a meeting with Mackey,” Stan says with a fling of his hand. He shouldn’t be taking it out on Kenny but the words come faster than he can stop them. “I’m gonna talk to him, okay? We’re gonna figure this shit out. I don’t know what the hell’s your problem with Kyle but you’re wrong about him. You’d know what he’s really like if you just hang out with him like I said.”

“I don’t give two fucks about Kyle.” Kenny steps forward until he pins Stan against the door with his presence. Despite the hardness of his words seconds ago, the softness in his eyes are suffocating. “I really hope I'm wrong about him. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Stan sags his shoulders with a drawn out sigh. He shakes his head and plants his hand on Kenny’s chest. “Dude, Kenny, don’t do this, okay? This is Kyle we’re talking about. I just - I just know he won’t do something like that. You don’t have to worry.” He laughs and gives Kenny a slight push. “Wait, do you think I get hurt that easy? Oh, c’mon, just ‘cause I got a little down after Wendy? That was nothing. I mean, that was normal stuff. Everyone goes through that after a breakup. And I didn’t after Gary so there. That was a one-time thing.”

Kenny cups his hand over Stan’s hand and holds it against his chest. He seems to sway forward for a split second before he stands up straight and drops his hand by his side. “And it’s not like you’re gonna dump him anyways, huh, so… it doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah, not if I can help it. He's worth it, you know.” Stan straightens up as well once Kenny backs up to give him space. “Hey - uh, I’m sorry, you know, if I sounded like I was taking it out on you. I know you’re looking out for me and thanks for that, man. I’m glad you have my back.”

“Thanks your mom for giving you a very nice back to look at.” Kenny puts on a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes. “But if you feel like showing me a little more appreciation…”

“Uh - maybe not in here,” Stan laughs, relieved to fall back into old rhythm with Kenny. “Mackey's gonna write you up again.”

Kenny rolls his eyes. “That was bullshit. What I do on my 10-minute break shouldn't be held against me.”

“Uh huh… I don't know what you and Bradley did in here and I don't wanna know. But I'm not getting caught up in this with you.”

“Aww, you don't wanna hear the details? They're the best part, Stan.” Kenny slings his arm around Stan’s shoulder like he’s done so so many times before. He pulls Stan close to him. He doesn’t say anything, not immediately anyway. He looks at Stan with inexplicably sad eyes, burned with loneliness and loss. Then he leans in and whispers in Stan’s ear, “Bradley’s come tastes like mint berry crunch.”

“Oh my God!” Stan shoves Kenny away and covers his ears. “Gross! I went to highschool with his sister!”

“So does it run in the family?”

“Oh God, aww, no, I don’t wanna hear it.” Stan opens the door and steps out. He glances back at Kenny. A curious smile he can’t suppressed takes a hold of him. “... Mint berry crunch? Like the cereal?”

“The perfect combination of mint and berry with a satisfying, tasty crunch. Now available in semen.”

“Ugggh God… Why did I ask?” Stan cringes and shakes his head like it can get the thought out. “That’s one cereal I’m never having again.”

The office is empty by now and enveloped in an eerie silence. With the exception of themselves, only Kyle is still here on the first floor, typing away in his office. Kyle glances up and settles on the two of them with an unfamiliar irritation in his gaze.

“You'll talk to him?” Kenny asks, the playfulness a moment ago vanished without a trace.

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I mean, he looks busy right now but yeah, definitely.” Stan turns around and gives Kenny a one-arm hug. “Go home, man. I'll see you in a couple days.”

Kenny nods and heads to his desk. He grabs his stuff and shuts down for the holidays, then stands around his desk, fiddling with things he doesn’t need to touch. Stan charges his hand on his waist and urges Kenny to get a move-on. Kenny huffs and makes the ‘call me” gesture then leaves for good. Finally at 2:34, it's only Stan and Kyle left.

The silence is nauseating. He gathers up his jacket and keys from his desk then strolls to Kyle's office. He waits at the door. Fingers hitting the keyboard is the only sound Kyle gives him. He watches Kyle’s obvious attempt to not look at him. He studies the tension in Kyle’s neck, the hardness in his gaze as if the computer has wronged him, and the downward curl of his lips that complete his grimace. Kyle doesn’t look serious and focused on his work; he looks down right pissed off. It makes no damn sense. If anyone’s mad about the current situation, it should be Stan.

“Hey, everything good? You look kinda annoyed. Adobe glitching out again?” Stan asks as he leans against the doorframe.

“No - it's not that. I…” Kyle brushes a stray hair from his face and wiggles his mouse around. “I'm just trying to get caught up.”

“Everyone’s gone already. You can’t do that when we come back?”

“I want to get these reports finished so they aren't hanging in the back of my mind.” Kyle turns his chair, his hands roaming through the files on his desk but not looking for anything in particular. He picks up a piece of paper that’s clearly upside down. “I'm going to be a while.”

“You need any help with that or...?”

“No, I'll be fine. It’s - uh - it’s for Corporate, but thank you.” Kyle forces on a cordial and distant smile, like his lips haven't grazed every inch of Stan’s skin. “You don’t have to wait up. I honestly don’t know how long I’ll be.”

“All right, I get it.” Stan smiles back and falls very short. “Don't stay too late… The cleaning lady might lock you in again.”

Kyle chuckles without humor. “That's why Mackey gave me a set of keys.”

Stan whistles. “Wow, keys to the office. Look who’s the big shot.”

“I would’ve preferred a bigger bonus check, but I guess we have to make compromises sometimes.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Kyle looks on with the posted smile. He palms the files on his desk and glances so fast at them he can't have retained any actual information. “I should - get back to this so I can try to leave before it gets dark.”

Stan dawdles at the door, half-hoping that Kyle will change his mind. Maybe they can sweep all the unpleasantness under the rug and go back to appreciating how much they mean to each other. But if there’s one thing --- only one thing he knows about Kyle, it’s that work always comes first. A weight sets in his chest. Maybe he’s the one wrong about Kyle and Kenny’s the one who’s right. Maybe this is _like that_.

Fear commands Stan’s legs to move until he is at Kyle’s desk. He leans over and catches a puzzled Kyle. He plants a kiss to the top of Kyle’s head, taking in the edelweiss hinted in Kyle’s shampoo and the artificial pungence of his hair gel. It’s a scent he’s become so familiarized with he’s forgotten how it makes his back muscles relax when he takes a breath. Kyle is here. Kyle is his.

“I’ll wait,” Stan whispers as he straightens up. “I got nothing planned anyway.”

Kyle follows him with his eyes and sighs between two smiles. “You don't have to do that.”

“I want to,” Stan says with a firm nod. He puts his hands up and says, “I know, I know, I'm distracting but you can keep your eyes and hands off me for a few hours and get your work done, can't you?”

Kyle wanes the stiffness his movement with a chuckle. “Don't flatter yourself. You're not that irresistible.”

Stan tsks and shakes his head. “Kyle, you shouldn't lie. Your nose will get bigger.”

“Excuse me? Leave my nose out of it.” Kyle snaps his head away as if to stop Stan from looking at him.

“Oh, c’mon, you know I love your nose.” Stan laughs, the weight lightening up though it would be delusional to think it’s gone. He leans in again and pecks the tip of Kyle’s nose. Kyle’s scent overwhelms him, luring him to think Kyle is more important than his so-called principles. “Come get me when you're done.”

“I'll try not to be long.” Kyle picks up a file he actually uses this time. “If you will please stop distracting me.”

“Sorry, sorry, my bad.” Stan grins as he eases out of the room. He turns around, putting his back to Kyle, and sends him a sly glance. “You do like watching me go, though, right?

“Get out.”

Stan skitters out with a laugh and sits down at one of the armchairs in the lobby. He looks at the empty receptionist desk and sighs. He’ll talk to Kyle. He will. When the time is right.

* * *

Stan tries not to think about how pissed off Kenny would be if he knew Stan still hasn’t talked to Kyle. Then again, it’s only been a day and it just happens to be their one-month anniversary today and he really doesn’t want to have that kind of conversation. They should be lovey-dovey on the couch with a bad movie then have mind-blowing sex til the sun rises. That’s how his anniversary with Wendy went back in the days, so why should it be any different this time with Kyle?

Probably because Wendy actually told him and broke up with him before she took the job. Whereas Kyle, pouring a glass of wine in the kitchen, hasn’t made a single peep about the new title that’s getting printed on his business card. The longer Kyle doesn’t mention it, the less Stan feels like bringing it up first, and the more he panics as the day progresses into night. Kenny can’t possibly be right. Kyle can’t possibly not care about what he feels. There must be something holding him back.

Stan settles on the couch, tuning up Netflix for something to watch after dinner. The apartment, with Shelly out after Stan’s begging and pleading and bribing, is quiet except for the sound of the wine bottle hitting the counter and the dull hum of the heater. Even Sparky, seeming to catch on to the tension, huddles in the corner of the living room instead of bolting across Stan’s laps. The couch groans under Kyle’s added weight. Stan scoots over and puts his arm around Kyle, not letting the fact that Kyle sits too far for comfort springs up any red flag. His other hand surfs through the available shows.

“There’s a new episode of Unlikely Animal Friends,” Stan says, setting the cursor over the show in question. “You wanna watch that?”

“You almost cried watching the last episode,” Kyle points out after a sip of his wine. “Are you sure you’re ready for that again?”

“The cat can’t walk and the dog’s his best friend. How can that not make you wanna cry?” Stan hands the remote over and exhales. “Fine, you pick then but no more foreign films, please. I don’t wanna hav to read anything.”

Kyle takes the remote and stares down at it for a second like he has no idea what it does. He fiddles with a few buttons, Stan on the verge of telling him he isn’t using it right, and shuts off the program then the TV with it.

“I’m not gonna cry,” Stan says. “I’m not Clyde.”

Kyle puts the wine on the coffee table. He sits at the edge of the couch and looks at Stan. “I think we should talk.”

Stan skips a breath. He’s been waiting for it the whole day and now that it’s finally happening, the dread is acid in his stomach. He falls against the back of the couch, rubbing his hands over his jeans, then nods. “Yeah, okay…”

Kyle’s posture never falters even when he’s not in the office. His back is straight and his hands are slotted together. He holds his head up high and levels his eye contact with Stan. It doesn’t feel like someone talking to his boyfriend; it feels like a boss talking to his employee. “It was the right move for me.”

Stan wants to shift to find a more comfortable position but his whole body is rigid, anchored down by the weight of Kyle’s words. “Yeah.”

“I like what I’ve been doing and I’m good at it,” Kyle starts off, “but all the travelling wears me down. I don’t want to spend the prime of my life in airplanes and rental cars and checking in and out of hotels. I wanted to settle down. This was my chance.”

Stan nods. “Yeah, I know, that’s gotta be rough on you.”

“It’s a great opportunity. I can do very well in this position.” Kyle softens as he breaks his clasp apart and reaches for Stan’s hand. “I know this is... sensitive for you and I know I should’ve talked with you first, but Victoria and Garrison didn’t exactly give me a lot of time to consider the offer. It was take it or they’ll find someone else who will and I - I wanted it.”

“Yeah,” Stan says with another nod like it’s the only thing he knows how to do. “I mean, you’ll be great at it.”

“I know it was a selfish move… but… I had to make it.”

“No, no, I get it. I mean… you gotta think about your future, right? Nobody wanna be stuck doing the same shit years after years.”

“Stan. Look at me, please.”

Stan does, not realizing that his gaze dropped to the wine glass somewhere along the conversation.

“I know this can be difficult…” Kyle’s eyes mirror the conflict in his own. “But if you’re willing, I think we can make it work. I don’t want it to end.”

Stan exhales. He licks his bottom lip while his gaze falls away again. Kyle or his principles. Why does he have to choose? Why can’t he have his cake and eat it too? He looks at Kyle’s hand cupped over his and notes how perfectly their hands can fit together. He remembers the taste of it on his tongue and the warmth it radiates through his body. He walks - no, he runs right into the delusion that third time is the charm. This time, he might get a happy ending. This time, it might not end in a clusterfuck. Because Kyle’s different. Whatever that means.

“It’s not gonna be easy. I mean, this fucking sucks ass and yeah, I really wish you could’ve given me a heads-up. I mean, it was, like, not cool at all that I didn’t know,” Stan says. “It’s gonna be hell keeping it from everyone and... working together and all that…”

“I understand. I never thought it wouldn’t be a challenge.”

“It’s just - you know, it’s not gonna be a walk in the park and let’s be real, I have a really bad record with this kind of stuff. I mean, honestly, has anyone really ever pulled off dating their boss? It’s just - it’s just the way it is, you know what I mean.”

“Well, from the gossips I overheard, Mr. Thorn and his assistant are still together,” Kyle says with a faint laugh. He tenses his fingers over Stan’s hand. “I don’t like giving up, but I understand if this isn’t an option for you. Whatever you decide, just know that my decision didn’t mean you matter any less to me.”

Stan takes a big inhale, tilting his head up a bit. He turns his hand and squeezes Kyle’s hand. “I don’t wanna give up either…”

“Can we give it a try, Stan? Is it at least worth that?”

The answer comes so quick Stan wonders why he ever questions it in the first place. “Yes.”

Kyle scoots in. The kiss is a furnace, and Stan plunges into the blazing fire without hesitation. He shovels his principles like coals, sacrificing them to fuel his affection. He swims in Kyle’s scent, using it to smother the nagging guilt in the back of his mind that he’s doing something very wrong. Misguided judgement, disguised as an ember of hope, reminds Stan that he said he’d see it through to the end. If this is part of the journey, he’ll just have to stick with it.

They pull apart but keep their foreheads together. They share air, fanning the flame of their relationship, engulfing everything Stan thought he stands for.

“Man, now you’re gonna get to boss me around,” Stan says.

Kyle laughs and cups Stan’s cheek. “Don’t I already do that?”

“That was at home. Now you can do it at work too.”

“Home?”

“You know, like, I mean, outside of work?”

Kyle mouths the word _home_ again as he tilts his head. He looks at Stan with eyes so smoldering Stan can’t help but let them consume him whole.

“Uh… Sorry, was that - Did I say something weird?” Stan asks, rubbing the back of his neck.

“No - no… I… It’s been a while since I thought about some place as home. I use it as throwaway word but it never actually means something.” Kyle wraps himself around Stan. He aligns the side of his face against the crook of Stan's neck and puts his hand right over where Stan’s heart is. He breathes with closed eyes and mutters, “You’re my home, Stan.”

Stan lowers his head and turns it to press his cheek atop Kyle’s head. He envelops Kyle in a tight hug. It does little to chop away the tendrils of unease crawling beneath his skin, but he can do well enough to pretend they aren’t there. “We’ll make it work.”

Kyle nuzzles against him, a content sigh slipping out. “Happy anniversary, Stan.”

“Happy anniversary.”

Kenny is going to be so pissed.

* * *

“So Stan, how does Kyle’s ass taste like now that you’re kissing it?” Cartman asks as he settles in with Kenny at the lunch table.

Stan looks over, opens his mouth, then decides it’s not worth the trouble. He drops a glance at Kenny. He tries not to let it bother him that Kenny chose not to have lunch with him or that the most he said to him today was a curt “morning.” Not even a “good morning”, just an angry, disappointed, and half-assed greeting. Stan would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little annoyed by Kenny’s attitude, but he reminds himself why Kenny’s feeling the way he does and he can only be mad at the situation. He can’t have his cake, eat it, and asks for a cherry on top too. He sure as hell can’t choose between Kyle and Kenny, regardless of how life is forcing him in that direction.

Stan turns back to Clyde and dips his fries in the ketchup puddle they share. “Everybody’s gonna be at Stark’s Pond. You get the best view for the fireworks there. Get there early if you want a good spot.”

Clyde chews his tacos and says without stopping, “How early?”

“Hey, did you not hear me?” Cartman taps his finger on the table to get Stan’s attention. “How does Kyle’s ass taste like?”

“I don’t know, maybe like, seven or eight?” Stan goes on without giving Cartman the satisfaction. “It’s gonna be cold as balls though.”

“Stan, goddammit, I’m talking to you!” Cartman cuts in, rapping his fingernails against the table. “Tell me what does Kyle’s ass taste like!”

“If you wanna know so bad, why don’t you ask if you can give it a lick?” Kenny asks as he unwraps his PB&J sandwich from its ziplock bag. “The worst that can happen is he says no.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Cartman narrows his eyes at Kenny. “I wouldn’t touch that stinking Jew with a ten-foot pole.”

Clyde snorts and glances over at Stan. Stan sighs, accepting that he's now trapped in the conversation.

“I’m just saying.” Kenny wipes a dollop of peanut butter and jelly from his lip. “You sound really curious.”

“Yeah, why are you so obsessed with Kyle’s ass?” Clyde asks after a snicker.

Cartman grits his teeth and flares his nostrils. “Stan’s the only one who’s into Jew ass. Aren’t you a vegan, Stan? Can you be eating ass or is it okay when it’s kosher?”

“Enough with the Jew thing,” Stan warns, gripping a fry so hard the skin breaks. “I don’t wanna hear you say another word about that. Kyle’s our manager now, okay. You need to respect him.”

“How did he get the job anyways?” Clyde licks his fingers free of taco sauce. “He has no experience. What does he know about what we do here?”

“Sucking ass, Clyde my man, haven’t you been listening?” Cartman answers. “It gets you a lot further than you think.”

“Okay, that’s it.” Stan throws the fry down. It hits the ketchup pool with a soggy squish. “Kyle didn’t get to where he is sucking up to people, okay? He’s good at what he does. He’s smart. He’s capable and he doesn’t fucking talk behind people’s back when he’s jealous of them.” He looks over at Clyde and says, “He deserves his job. He earned it, and he knows a lot about what we do here, okay, so just drop it.”

“Uh... that’s cool. I - was just asking...” Clyde mutters, glancing over at Cartman like Cartman will jump in and help.

“Damn.” Cartman leans over to Kenny. He acts like he’s whispering between the two of them but his words are loud enough for everyone to hear. “I guess he’s sucking more than Kyle’s ass.”

To Stan’s surprise, Kenny says, “Say what you want, but Kyle’s good. You can’t argue with results.” The pointed look he gives Stan, however, turns Stan’s guts into knots. “He’s gotta have something to get everyone upstairs backing him.”

“A very big mouth to suck everyone’s collective ass at once. It's a Jewish talent.” Cartman ducks when Stan throws the ketchup-soaked fry at him. “Hey! What the fuck! You’re wasting food.”

“Last warning, Cartman.” Stan wipes his hand with a napkin then stands up. He fixes his gaze on Kenny, silently asking him to follow him. Kenny stares down at the empty ziplock bag like it’s more important than Stan. Stan’s chest tightens. His muscles twist his face into a frown. He pushes his chair back and turns to Clyde. “Eight is probably good. Bring something warm to drink.”

“Thanks,” Clyde says with a stiff smile. “I’ll tell Craig and the guys.”

Stan walks out of the lunchroom and paces without a destination in mind. His stomach somersaults as he walks to the restroom even though he doesn’t need to go. He stares at his reflection in the mirror, studying the droplets of water trailing down his face after he splashed it with water. He always thought it’s supposed to calm the nerves down and makes him feel freshen up, but he just feels colder and more miserable. He rips a chunk of paper towel out and dries his face with rough, thoughtless rubs.

“That’s not good for your skin.”

Stan blinks at the mirror, taking in Kenny’s reflection than looking at the actual person standing behind him. Kenny shuffles back and leans against the wall that Stan hopes someone cleaned recently. He crumbles the paper towel and tosses it into the bin. He turns, putting his hands on the counter, and gazes at Kenny. At least Kenny came, so that means he’s willing to listen, right?

“I had to give it a try,” Stan says. “Look, I know what you’re thinking. I know why you’re pissed, but dude, this is my life, you know. It’s my choice. I think - doing this, it’s my chance to break free of shit that held me back, you know what I mean? I’ve been so caught up with how things went with Wendy and Gary, I’m not seeing things clearly. It’s not always gonna end up like that. I sure as hell won’t know until I give it a go.”

Kenny sinks into the wall. He lowers his head and rubs his forehead. “Fucking shit...”

“You said it. I deserve to be happy, right? Kyle makes me happy so you know, why can’t you just be happy for me too?”

“You’re missing the point,” Kenny says with a bitter laugh.

“I’m not. There is only one point: I want to be with Kyle. That’s it. The end.”

Kenny opens his mouth. Whatever it is he wants to say, Stan’s kinda glad he doesn’t. The hurt on his face is staggering. It’s like Kenny is the little angel on his shoulder and he’s cruelly flicking it off without no regard for its well-being and what it’s done for him.

“I want this, Kenny. I’m not gonna give up without a fight.”

Kenny gnaws his teeth over his bottom lip with a sidelong glance. “If it makes you fight who you are, is it really right for you?”

“Maybe.” Stan shrugs. “Or maybe I didn’t know who I was until he came along.”

Kenny squeezes his eyes shut, covering his hand over them, and holds in a breath. He mutters something Stan doesn’t catch. When he looks at Stan, his eyes are choked with defeat. “You’re un-fucking-believable.”

Stan pushes off the counter and stands in front of Kenny. “C’mon, dude, are we seriously gonna do this again?” He puts both hands on Kenny’s shoulders and lowers down to catch the gaze Kenny isn’t willing to give. “I need you, man.”

Kenny meets Stan’s eyes and sighs through gritted teeth. “You’re thinking with your dick.”

“You’re the one person I always count on to be on my side. What do you say, Kenny?”

Kenny inhales and chews the inside of his mouth. His gaze holds a million words he can’t say for whatever reason. “Like I'm gonna turn my back on you.”

“Hey, for what it's worth, your mom gave you a great back to look at.”

Kenny sputters a laugh and presses the back of his head against the wall. “My front’s my better side. Especially the lower half.”

“I don't doubt it, man.” Stan squeezes Kenny’s shoulders. “Dude, I don't want things to be weird between us.”

“As long as you remember bros before Jewfros,” Kenny says.

“Hey, not you too. I'm serious about the Jew thing. It's not cool.”

Kenny puts his hands up and nods an apology. “Shit, sorry.”

Stan nudges Kenny with a push. “You with me?”

“Until the very end.”

Together, they leave the restroom and awkwardness behind. He isn't naive enough to think everything is sunshine and sparkles with Kenny, but at last for the moment, he can live in the comfort he didn't set one of his most important relationships on fire.

As they head back to their respective desks for the end of their lunch hour, Kyle steps out of his office and hones in on Stan’s empty desk.

“Hey, looking for me?” Stan calls out.

Kyle looks in their direction. That unfamiliar irritation in his eyes fires up again. Stan can't tell if he's imagining it or if Kyle's eyes particularly harden at the sight of Kenny by his side. Whatever it may be, Kyle does not look like a happy camper.

“Stan, my office, please, when you're back from lunch,” Kyle says then retreats without another glance or word.

“I know that look,” Kenny says, bumping shoulders with Stan. “That's the _Kenny, you ordered the wrong kind of paper clips, you shit-for-brain trash-fucker_ look.”

“What -? No, pfft, he'd never say that.”

“Yeah, you're right. It was _you incompetent imbecile_.” Kenny puts his hand on Stan’s lower back and gives him a push. “Good luck. I can't help you here.”

While Kenny goes to his desk, Stan makes his way to Kyle's office. He closes the door behind him and settles in the chair in front of Kyle's desk. He sits almost at the edge with a straight and stiff back. There's no point to get comfortable if Kyle's strangled and stress-laden breaths are anything to go off on. It's 1:03, only a little over four hours since Kyle officially stepped in as manager. Already, the job has drained the colors from his face. Stan’s stomach twists as the awareness of his own incompetence tears through the false sense of security he built. If he'd done a better job in the past three months, maybe he could've lightened the burdens crushing Kyle right now.

“I received some instructions from upper management,” Kyle says, fingers clasped together in a manner that mimics Victoria.

“Instructions,” Stan repeats, shifting his weight from one buttcheek to the other. “That sounds like fun.”

If Kyle cares for the joke, he doesn't show it. His eyes are fixed and unwavering on Stan. “Management re-evaluated our department and after a throughout and meticulous discussion, we’re going to have to let someone go.”

Well shit. So much for not letting anyone get fired.


	8. EMPLOYEES FOUND TWEETING #MACKEYISAPIGSHITFUCKER DURING WORK WILL BE DISCIPLINED

Stan folds his hands over the stack of performance evaluation on his laps. He hasn't looked at them; he doesn't need to. No one on his team, in his opinion, deserves to be let go. Sure, business hasn't been great, but it’s not from the lack of trying. Everyone's doing the best they can. Even Cartman, the biggest slacker of them all, gives his 100 percent when it counts. So how can they be blamed for the failing market and low sales? But then again, he guesses when times are tough, people are always looking for someone than themselves to shoulder all the blame.

“You can't touch Tweek,” Stan says. “If Tweek goes, Craig goes. And if Craig goes, then Clyde, Token, and Jimmy all go. They're bonded. Like a pack of wolves.”

“Do you really think they’d all quit in solidarity?” Kyle’s face is unreadable. If he feels threatened by Stan’s prediction, there's nothing in his expression that shows it.

“You saw what happened when Craig was suspended. You know I’m not exaggerating.” Stan massages his nose bridge though it does nothing to alleviate the headache hammering his skull. “Do we really have to do this? Can't we talk them out of it? I mean, seriously, Mackey drives a goddamn Beamer but we can't afford one more person’s salary?”

“There's a lot of decisions that you and I are not in the position to know or to question,” Kyle recites like he's reading it off a prompter. “Trust me, Stan, I don't want letting go someone to be the first thing I do as manager, but it's the task I'm given so I'm going to do it.”

Stan glues his eyes on Kyle, hoping the sincerity in them may sway Kyle’s stony heart. “They're all good guys. None of them deserves this. You know it.”

“I know. I don't question any of their value,” Kyle responds, composed and professional as expected. “But at the end of the day, we have to keep the company’s best interest in mind. Personal feelings don't matter.”

Stan falls back against the chair. His muscles ache from how stiffly he sat. He casts his gaze to the side. One hand pins down the stack of files against his leg while the other cards through his hair along with a strained breath.

“I have to give them a name by the end of today.” Kyle flips through his notably smaller pile of evaluation files. Whoever is in there are the ones he's already narrowed down to. “I thought we can come to a mutual agreement.”

“You're telling me to pick one of my friends and fuck him over.”

“I’m not asking you to pick and choose.” Kyle sighs and places his hands over the files in a way that reminds Stan of Victoria. “I'm asking you to do your duty as team lead. Look at the fact. Look at your team member’s individual performance. Look for the weakest link. Who's expendable?”

Stan cringes. His words come out with a growl. “No one.”

“Everyone’s expendable,” Kyle says without pause. He leans forward, as if coming in closer to tell Stan a secret. “We need a name, and since you don’t agree with my suggestion, I’m hoping you’ll work with me here, Stan. Or upstairs will choose who goes and it might not be the right choice.”

Stan sucks in a breath, letting the oxygen smolder the anger rising in him. “What about me? If they pull my name out of a hat or handpick me to pack and leave, what are you gonna do? Are you gonna fight for me? Am I expendable?”

Kyle drops eye contact only for a split second. Stan has to admire his professionalism; it’s inspiring if it isn’t so damn cruel. “Stan, you know better than anyone else what your performance for the past three months has been like.”

“Jesus, fuck, Kyle…” Stan shields his hand over his eyes and lowers his head. “You think I’m a fucking joke.”

“No, I don’t, but I think you have it in you to do better. I have faith in you. So do Victoria and Garrison. In the hypothetical situation upper management decides on you, I’ll do everything I can to ask them to reconsider. You're a great asset, despite your shaky start. It's not a point that's hard to defend,” Kyle says but it doesn’t sound one bit reassuring. “But---”

Stan cuts in. He already knows what Kyle wanted to say anyway. “But it’s not our place to challenge what they decide, right? We’re all just supposed to shut up. Fucking go with it. Don’t ask questions.”

“You're not thinking objectively. You have to be impartial.”

“How do you do this?” Stan drops the stack on the desk louder than needed. “How can you just be okay with putting someone out of a job?”

Kyle straightens up, seemingly trying to make himself bigger and taller. If his face shows any less emotion, he could beat out Craig as the most stoic person in the office. “I'm not _okay_ with it. I don’t enjoy this. I'm just trying to do my job. So should you.”

“Our jobs suck donkey balls.”

Kyle softens his face with sympathy. “You didn’t think it’d be easy, didn’t you? I'm sure Mackey already gave you his speech.”

Stan resets until he can cross his arms over his chest. His gaze is fixed to the corner of Kyle’s desk. “Yeah, yeah, making the best call. Doing what's right. I just can't see how this is the right thing to do.”

Kyle nods, understanding but not relenting. “Sometimes, there is no right thing to do. You make the choice that causes the less damage and you live with it. That's it.”

Stan cups his face in his hands. “I don’t wanna be the one making these choices.”

“That’s too bad. You took the position. You have to bear the good and the bad,” Kyle says. “In any case, we’re getting sidetracked.”

“Right, yeah, sorry, we gotta fire someone before sundown.” Stan would become one with the chair if he sinks any further into it. He pinches his nose bridge. His eyes are closed as he says, “No Tweek. And no one from Craig’s gang. Not just because the wolf pack thing. They’re some of the best we have.”

Kyle pushes aside one of the files then picks out another one. Flipping through it, he asks, “What about Malkinson? His numbers aren’t very impressive and he hasn’t spearheaded any major projects.”

Stan frowns and shakes his head. “You can’t fire Scott. He has diabetes. That’d be super mean.” Knowing that it’s not enough, he adds on, “He’s not flashy, yeah, but he’s reliable. You can always count on him to pull through. He gives his best at everything he does. No complaint. Nothing.”

“Lack of ambition asides, he does have a steady and consistent performance.” Kyle glances up then nods slowly. He closes Scott’s file and picks up the next one. In the pile, there are only one file left. “What’s your opinion on Biggle?”

“No, c’mon, I went to highschool with his sister. I’ve known him since forever,” Stan says like that is reason enough to keep Bradley. “He’s really good with people. I can think of a few accounts that’s gonna leave if they hear Bradley’s not with us anymore.”

“I can’t argue he has one of the best customer service on our team. It’s not something we can do without.” Kyle puts down Bradley’s file. His hand stops over the last file. Then changing his mind, he retracts and steeples his hands together. Pressing his fingers to his chin, he says, “Do we agree then?”

“Yeah.” Stan draws in a long breath. He lowers his eyes to the unread file. Though he can’t see it written on the folder, he already knows the name they will give to upper management. He presses his elbow into the armrest and bends to the side until he holds his fingers against his temple. “Are we done?”

Kyle gathers the evaluations in order and puts them away in his drawer, leaving only the unlucky one still out in the open. “There's one more thing, Stan. It's about Butters.”

Stan cocks his head. “Did he hole punch your papers wrong again? I'll talk to him.”

“No, well… yes but no, it's not about that.” Kyle retrieves a new folder from his drawer then hands it over to Stan. “Did you know that he's not enrolled in an university?”

Stan fiddles with the pages, looking but not really looking. “Uh… no. Why?”

“He's an intern. He needs to get college credits. Without that, he's working for free, which he has for the past six months.”

Stan raises his brow. The dread is acid in his stomach. He asks, though a part of him already knows the answer. “And that's a problem how?”

“It's not if you have no regards for labor laws,” Kyle says.

“Aw fuck, Jesus Christ.” Stan lolls his head back. Staring at the ceiling is easier than looking at Kyle. “You can't fire Butters.”

“I'm not firing Butters. He shouldn't even be working here.”

Stan scoots to the edge of the chair. He drops Butters’ file on the desk and pokes it with a firm finger. “Okay, can't we just say he's, uh, a, I don't know, a volunteer?”

“We’re not a charity.”

“No shit.” Stan throws his hand out as he falls back against the chair again. “We’re way too fucking heartless.”

“Stan.”

“You know, okay, it's one thing to fire Jason, ‘cause, yeah, okay, I'll say it, he's not that great at what he does. The guys will get over that,” Stan says, brimming with anger he can’t suppress. “But Butters? Seriously? You can take a dump in their mouth and they would hate you less.”

“I know Butters’ very well-liked here,” Kyle says with the complete opposite of Stan’s demeanor. “If a position ever opens up, he’s more than welcome to apply. Assuming there is no one more qualified given that in the two years he's been with us, no one has taught him how to do anything other than pick up their diarrhea medicine and replace the urinal cakes.”

“I didn’t know we were supposed to teach him actual stuff. I thought interns just get coffee and do our laundry.” Stan moves up again. He puts his elbows on the desk with his hands hovering next to his head. “Okay, okay, um, he just needs credits, right? So we’ll tell him to sign up for a class or something. That’ll work, right?”

Kyle shoots down the idea with a blunt “We don’t need an intern.”

Stan breathes automatically, but holds the air in his nose. His chest constricts as reality punches him in the face. He freezes in place, staring at the incisive green eyes he loves so much. He’s always been at the mercy of those eyes, but today, it’s the first time he knows just how merciless they can be.

“I’ll let Mackey knows what we’ve decided,” Kyle says. He gives a tug and frees Butters’ file that was trapped under Stan’s elbows. “This is confidential, I’m sure you know, so let’s keep it between us until Mackey reviews it with Victoria and Garrison. They have the final say.”

Stan reaches out. He nearly slaps his hand down to stop Kyle from piling Butters’ file on top of Jason’s but stops himself at the last moment. He lowers his hand then fists it. He says, like he’s only learning now how to speak, “I can’t do this, Kyle. I can’t - go out there and look at them in the eye and - and pretend - I - uh - I can’t do that.”

Kyle glances to the door, as if to make sure no one has magically appeared. Then he looks at Stan as he leans forward just slightly. Though his face remains unchanged, his tone carries a hint of sympathy. “Stan… This is not your fault. Don’t blame yourself. You’re doing what you have to. The fact of the matter is this is a long time coming. We should count ourselves lucky that we only have to let one person go. I’ve been to smaller offices that had bigger cut.” He sighs a pitiful sigh. “You’re damage control, but you can’t contain the fallout that’s bound to happen. Don’t let this get to you. There was nothing you could’ve done.” He sits up straight again and puts back on his professionalism like a favorite shirt. “I need you to be strong, Stan. We’re a team. We need to be behind this together.”

“I… Okay…” Stan swallows the sour taste in his mouth. He pushes the chair back, its legs whining against the floor. “If there’s nothing else, I’m gonna get back to work.”

“Stan,” Kyle calls out, “remember, it’s not personal.”

Stan lingers only long enough to nod. Listless steps take him to the door and back to his desk. It's 2:14 that luck would have it that Jason is standing in Clyde’s cubicle, talking to Jimmy across the way.

“Look, if you’re out with a customer, and he wants some coke, what are you supposed to do?” Jason asks. “Was I supposed to not get him the coke and blow the deal?”

“No, you do it, but you don’t claim it as a it business expense,” Clyde says.

“Why not? It was for business.”

“Probably because it’s drugs,” Jimmy answers with a blank smile. “Like Mackey always s-s-s-ays, drugs are bad, mm’kay.”

Clyde snickers then nudges Jason. “How much did you spend anyways?”

“A 100 bucks. That I’m never gonna see again,” Jason grumbles.

“A 100 dollars?” Tweek mutters from down his cubicle. “You got ripped off. I could’ve sold you - gah - nevermind, I didn't say anything!”

“Fuck me.” Jason turns around and leans on the wall separating Stan and Clyde’s cubicle. “Hey, Stan, think you can talk to Bebe and get that reimbursement approved for me? Please, man.”

“Damn it...” Stan pinches his nose bridge then nods even though he knows walking on Jupiter would be easier than getting Bebe to do him any favor. “I’ll give it a try.”

“I’m counting on you, Stan.” Jason thanks him with a smile then heads back to his desk.

Though the office is loud with many voices overlapping, Stan can only hear a ringing in his ears as he tries to focus on his screen and the emails waiting in his inbox. He clicks open emails that he doesn’t read then marks them Unread again for later.

“Hey, Stan?” Butters skitters over on carefree steps. His smile, soft and full of life, is a knife in Stan’s eyes. “Eric says I gotta go on a donut run. You want anythin’?”

“Uh - no… no, I’m good,” Stan says, barely registering how low his voice is. “Thanks, Butters… for everything.”

“Oh… aww, don’t mention it, buddy. I’m just doin’ my job. You sure you don’t want nothin’? Hey, how ‘bout Kyle?” Butters gestures at Kyle’s office. “You think he wants somethin’?”

Stan glances back at the closed door. Then he laughs, joyless and ironic. He shakes his head and says, “... I think Kyle already got what he wants.”

* * *

“You barely touched your Kung Pao soy chicken,” Kenny says, polishing off his plate of City Wok chow mein.

“Huh?” Stan blinks up with his chopsticks hovering just above his plate. He glances down at his dinner. “Oh - uh, I guess I’m just not that hungry.”

Kenny pokes his fork into Stan’s chicken and takes a bite. He scrunches his nose after he swallows. “Dude, this tastes like rat.”

Stan scoffs and sips his beer instead of eating his food. “If you think this tastes bad, you should try the Mongolian soy beef. It’s like… cow vomit. If cows could vomit.”

Kenny washes down his food with water then sets down his fork. He pushes his plate out of the way and crosses his arms over the table. “What’s up with you? You didn’t eat lunch either.”

“Uh… I don’t know. Maybe I’m coming down with something.” Stan turns his head and rubs his forehead. “Just don’t really feel like eating.”

“Don’t gimme that bullshit,” Kenny says. “C’mon, dude, talk to me.”

Stan looks down with sagging shoulders. Tomorrow is Judgment Day. Tomorrow, Mackey is going to call Jason and Butters into his office and give them each a meaningless spiel about why they have to be let go. Tomorrow, Stan is going to betray his friends and will just have to somehow live with it. Part of him wishes he really is coming down something so he can call in sick tomorrow. Anything to avoid being there when the hammer falls.

“Kenny…” Stan glances around quickly to make sure there’s no one from the office at City Wok. Kyle did tell him that it’s confidential but if he doesn’t get it off his chest, he might actually vomit. “If I tell you something, will you promise to keep it a secret?”

Kenny holds up three fingers. “Cross my heart, babe.”

“Okay… It’s…” The words are heavy. He has to push them out. “Uh… it’s about work. You know how Kyle called me in yesterday? Uh...”

Kenny slips on a coy smile and tilts his head a little. “Wait, I know where this is going. You finally blew him in his room. That’s why you were in there for so long, huh? I knew it.”

“What? No, aww, c’mon, Kenny…” Stan drops his gaze and sighs off to the side. “... I’m fucking serious.”

“Who’s Serious and does Kyle know you’re fucking him?”

Stan groans and drops his head. He presses two fingers to his nose bridge and sighs into his hand. “Forget it.”

“I’m just jerking your dick. Y’know you can tell me anything, man.” Kenny taps Stan on his forearm from across the table. “Let’s grab some boxes and head back to my place. I wanna hear what’s going on with you.”

“Sure, yeah, that sounds great.” Stan sets down his chopsticks over the plate he didn’t touch. “I don’t really wanna talk here anyway.”

“Yeah, dude, for sure.” Kenny gets up an inch off the chair to get the take-out boxes then stops in mid-track. He looks past Stan. His gaze widen and he talks without taking his eyes off whatever captured his attention. “Especially look who the fuck just walked in.”

Stan turns his head slowly and slyly as Kenny settles back into the chair in slo-motion. It takes about two seconds to hone in on exactly what made Kenny speechless with excitement and anticipation. Standing a few inches away from the counter and studying the simple menu is Gary Harrison. With hair as golden as Apollo’s chariot and eyes bluer than Artemis’ moon, Stan would recognize that grace of god anywhere.

“Holy... fuck,” Stan mouths. He snaps his head back to focus on Kenny. “Am I hallucinating? Is this really happening?”

“What the fuck is he doing here? I thought he went back to Utah,” Kenny whispers as he leans onto the table. Unlike Stan who’s trying his hardest to pretend Gary isn’t there, Kenny has no qualm staring. “He looks good.”

“I don’t know! Maybe he came back?” Stan whispers back. “I think his family still lives - Jesus, Kenny! Can you stop staring at him?”

“Too late.”

Stan sucks in a breath and tenses his neck so he won’t turn around and look. “What do you mean too late?”

“He saw me. Us. He saw us. He’s coming over. Stan. Stan. He’s coming.”

“Aww, fuck!” Stan dips his head and wonders if it’s too late to duck under the table. “Fuck, fuck!”

“Oh wow, hey there, it’s been a while.” Gary’s voice melts in Stan’s ears. As expected, he takes out his hand and shakes Kenny’s hand. “How’ve you guys been?”

“‘sup dude? What the hell dragged you back to South Park?” Kenny asks with no restrain.

“Oh, I’m just on my way to Denver to spend the New Year with my family. Couldn’t resist not picking up some City Beef for the road. Oh boy, did I miss the food here.” Gary’s gaze lands on Stan. He smiles as he always does and waits for Stan to shake his hand too. “Hi, Stan, you’re looking well.”

“Hey,” Stan says then cringes at how his voice just has to crack. He clears his throat. “Uh, it’s seeing you - shit, I mean, it’s good seeing you.”

“Did you say you miss City Wok?” Kenny laughs. “Damn, what do they feed you in Utah?”

“Oh, you know, we have Panda Express, but it’s not the same,” Gary says, a smile permanently on his face. “It doesn’t have the authenticity Mr. Kim puts in his cooking.”

“True, true,” Kenny nods, “you just can’t get genuine horse meat in your Chinese food these days.”

Gary laughs, a hand pressed to his ribs and his eyes twinkling with delight. “Oh, Kenny, you’re a riot. I've almost forgotten how much I love your jokes.”

“I got plenty more to share if you’re staying in town long enough.” Kenny grins, matching Gary’s grin with one of his own.

“Oh, I would absolutely love to catch up but…” Gary rests his eyes on Stan then diverts them back onto Kenny when Stan refuses to look at him. “I do have to get back on the road. My family’s expecting me and I really don’t want to miss Monopoly night.”

“That sucks.” Kenny locks eyes with Stan, urging him to join in the conversation. “We got tons of shit we could talk about.”

Gary presses his lips into a line, forming a dimmed smile that looks foreign on him. “Well, hey, maybe next time when I’m back in town.”

“Yeah, you gotta hit us up,” Kenny says. “We’ll grab a beer and shoot the shit. You start drinking yet?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Gary says, shaking his hands, “but I’d love to go anyway. I’m sure they have non-alcoholic beverages.”

“Totally. You still got Stan’s number, right? Just give him a call.” Kenny lands a pointed look on Stan. “He’s gonna come too, yeah?”

“Umshure,” Stan mutters to his beer bottle.

Gary follows Kenny’s gaze to Stan as well. He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I will definitely do that. Well, sorry to cut this short, guys, I do have to get going. It was great seeing you again, I mean it.”

A countdown falls into place. Stan feels the seconds ticking by, knowing damn well he may let slip the one chance he has to talk to Gary again. But when he opens his mouth, his voice gets trapped in his throat and his brain shuts down. “Uh.” He clears his throat as he fiddles with his beer bottle. He breathes sharply while Gary and Kenny both await, one with hope and the other with anticipation. “... The weather’s - um - getting pretty bad so drive safe.”

“Oh.” The corners of Gary’s mouth droop and shatters Stan’s heart. But Gary, being Gary, rallies back full-force with a beaming smile like nothing has happened. “Thanks, Stan. You don’t have to worry about me. You guys take care now.”

With a nod and a parting handshake to Kenny, Gary paces back to the cashier and places his take-out. Stan folds over with his elbows keeping him upright. He groans and closes his eyes. The headache he’s been nursing is now a hurricane in his head.

“Oh my God,” Stan mumbles. “That was so painful. Can we get the hell out of here?”

Kenny kicks Stan’s shin under the table. “What the hell’s wrong with you?“

“Jesus - ouch!” Stan rubs his shin though it’s more for show than anything. “Why did you do that for?”

“I don’t believe in signs from the universe, but this is a fucking sign if I ever saw one,” Kenny says, pointing a blatant finger at Gary. “You need to go talk to him.”

“Uh, no, I don’t,” Stan says. He reaches over and grabs Kenny’s hand to make him stop pointing. “Put that down - I’m not gonna talk to him.”

“Look, of all the places in South Park, he walked into this one. That’s, like, destiny shit. You hated how things ended, right? This is your chance to fix it. He didn’t have to come over and say hi, but he did. He’s giving you an open. You can’t throw that away.”

“Okay, fine, let’s say it is destiny or the universe is finally done fucking me in the ass, what am I even gonna say?” Stan scoffs, throwing up his hands up. “Sorry I broke your heart and made you quit your job?”

“That sounds like a fucking good start to me.” Kenny leans in, his eyes burning with seriousness. “You need to do this, Stan.”

“I - Kenny, I - I can’t, right now, okay?” Stan scoots back and looks everywhere but at Kenny. “I have a ton of shit on my plate as it is. I don’t have the time to make-up with Gary, okay? I just - don’t. Just - drop it, okay? I mean, what’s done is done, anyway. Talking with him isn’t gonna un-fuck things.”

“You’re gonna regret it,” Kenny says, moving back into his seat. His disappointment is etched in every line on his face. “I know you, dude and you know me. I always tell you what you need to hear so listen the fuck up. If you don’t talk to him tonight and sort everything out, you’re gonna hate yourself for the rest of your life.”

Stan takes in a breath then rubs his temples. With his eyes closed, he groans and shakes his head. “What if he doesn’t wanna - you know - listen?”

“We’re talking about Gary Harrison here. You can rip his dick off with your bare hand while you talk and he’ll listen to every word.”

Stan chews his lips and drops his forehead to his clasped hands. Of course Kenny is right (because Kenny, through some miraculous act of God, is always right.) Even though it’s not like he lies awake every night thinking how things could’ve ended differently with Gary, it’s not like he doesn’t think about it every now and then when his guilt has a rendezvous with his loneliness. And if this really is the universe giving him a do-over, he has to take it, doesn’t he?

“He’s leaving,” Kenny says. “Don’t run from this.”

Stan turns in his chair. He watches Gary, with his head down and eyes to the floor, walk out of City Wok. He remembers all of sudden what Kyle said yesterday. There isn’t always a right thing to do; sometimes, it’s just about making the choice that fucks things up less. Though if he’s being honest, he can’t see how breaking into a jog to go after Gary is going to make things less worse. He just knows it’s the right choice at this moment. Not that Gary could have gone far, but every second he can’t see Gary, Stan’s heart rips a piece of itself off. And honestly with the way things have been going? There isn’t much of it left.

The evening air hits him with renewed conviction. He scans the sidewalk and spots Gary walking to a parked car. His legs freeze in place. What is it about him and always having to watch people he cares about leave?

“H - hey, hey! Gary - wait!”

Gary stops with a hand on the passenger’s door. He stays that way, looking back at Stan like he doesn’t recognize him. “... Stan?”

Stan swallows the doubt and the urge to turn around and run like hell. He walks up to Gary and exhales. As his breath hangs between them, he gathers up the pieces of himself that were torn to shreds. He can’t be whole again, he knows that much, but maybe he makes something new out of his broken parts.

“Hey, uh… I know you gotta get to Denver and it’s Monopoly night but - uh… can I talk to you?” Stan loads his eyes with sincerity. “Please?”

It's 7:23 when Gary smiles, like the sun chasing off the night, and nods. “Of course.”


	9. UNSOLICITED DISTRIBUTION OF MEMES IS NOT ALLOWED

Maybe it is fate or maybe it’s a coincidence that Stan and Gary end up at indie coffeehouse where they had their first date. It’s a good thing their table next to the floral mural at the back was taken. Otherwise, the nostalgia might have hit Stan too hard. They sit down at a table in the middle of the tranquil shop. Each orders a drink out of necessity. An indistinct song mumbles overhead. Around them, people leech off the free wifi and use their coffee for decoration. No one bats them an eye or pay any mind to the palpable tension between them.

Stan picks up his thoughts like they’re strayed leaves blown around by the wind. Always just a little out of his reach. Fleeing the moment he gets close. He thumbs the surface of the ceramic mug. A whiff of passionflower fills his nostrils. He would’ve gone for a strong bitter coffee if he didn’t remember Kyle once told him that passionflower is supposed to have a calming effect. He’s just desperate enough tonight to try it.

Gary stirs his honey lemon and water, gazing at Stan without judgement or impatience. He waits.

“Sorry, I just need a moment,” Stan says after too long of a silence. He tugs the ear of the mug, wishing he has something to occupy his frantic fingers.

“Oh, please, take your time, Stan.” Gary smiles, understanding and comforting as always. “I’m not in a hurry.” 

Stan scoffs and glances up. “Don’t you need to get to monopoly night?”

“Monopoly can wait. This feels more important.”

“Okay. Uh. Okay.” Stan straightens up and summons the nerves he was soothing to back him up. He leans too far on the table then pulls back to a distance where Gary can hear him clearly but they still have the privacy he wants. He cups the warm mug for something to do with his hands. “I'm gonna try to get this out in one breath.”

Gary nods and puts down the spoon, giving Stan his full attention. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“Okay…” Stan takes a breath then lets out what he's been holding onto for the past six months. “I'm sorry about what happened. I know I didn't get the chance to say that when things went to hell and I really should've. I guess, I don't know... there was never a right time. You know... it sucks how things turned out. I had a great time with you. I never wanted it to end like that.”

Gary mutters, “I feel the same. Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. Please go on.”

“Okay, uh…” Stan rubs his nose bridge then draws another breath. “I think it didn't have to be like this, you know? Just, I mean, it could’ve gone better if we talked it out or something after what happened. But you just left, man. I never got to set things straight and it made me feel really bad. That wasn’t cool, you know. Like there might have been something else we could’ve done but we didn’t get to do nothing, ‘cause I guess you just gave up. It sucks balls... You could’ve, I don’t know… had closure with me instead of just packing up and calling it quit. I guess that's what I wanted to say.”

Gary presses his lips together. His brows fall into a frown as he licks his bottom lip then shakes his head. “I'm sorry,” he says but it isn't an apology. “I don't think we're on the same page. I didn't leave because I wanted to. I hate to put it this way. Stan, but you forced me to go.”

“Uh.” Stan cocks his brow, his mouth apart. “... What are you talking about?”

Gary exhales. “Stan, it was an awkward time for both of us but I wanted to stay friends at least. You didn't. I tried everything. I tried talking to you. I asked you out to grab lunch or coffee or just hang out. As friends or even just coworkers if that was what you were comfortable with. But you wouldn't give me the time of day. You avoided me at every turn. You acted like you wanted nothing to do with me.”

“No,” Stan blurts out too quickly and too defensively, “when did I - I never did that. I mean, it was hard so maybe, I don't know, maybe I was kinda unreachable, but you know, I didn’t really know what to do.”

“I get that. We both could've used the time to clear our head, and maybe I was a little pushy. Maybe we’re both to blame,” Gary says. “But please don't act like I'm the one that did you wrong. I handled the situation like an adult. You were the one who couldn't get past the melodrama. You wouldn’t try to be reasonable. You were so obsessed with this… role you gave yourself, you couldn't see that it really wasn't as bad as you made it out to be.”

“Uhhh… But it was bad.” Stan flickers his eyes around, as if one of wifi-leechers will come to his defense. “I dumped you. You were really sad.”

“Oh yeah, I was, but - and please don’t take this the wrong way - but it wasn't the end of the world for me. People date. People break up. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“But - but,” Stan stutters, “we tried. Really hard to make it work and - and - didn’t it really suck ass that we didn’t work out?”

“Did we, Stan? Did we really try?” Gary raises his brow. He sighs and places his interlaced hands on the table. “I really liked you, Stan. I would’ve loved to see what we could’ve been. But… to be completely honest, I’m kind of glad we didn’t end up together. What you did, it showed me who you really are. You’re so… I don't know how to say this kindly but....you’re complacent with the way things are. You don't think to try to change anything. You were so consumed by the idea that you and I will never work, we were doomed from the start. You never tried to see it any differently. You came in expecting it to go nowhere because that’s what you perceived how it was going to be and you weren’t going to believe otherwise. You molded us into what you wanted us to be. The way we ended? And the way we are now? Oh, Stan, it’s all on you. I didn't leave because I _wanted_ to. I left because it was too much watching you. I thought I’d spare us both and move on because you clearly couldn’t.”

Stan gapes, eyes and mouth equally wide. Gary’s words hit him like those allergy pills commercial where a film peels off and reveals the world in a much clearer and vivid image. What he couldn't - or maybe he didn't want to see before are all laid out before him. They set in like concrete and ground him in reality. 

“I’m sorry. What I said was harsh, but it’s the truth,” Gary says. “And I think you needed to hear that. We could’ve been great, but you didn’t want it.” He doesn't hold any malice in his gaze. He isn't here to hurt Stan’s feelings; he's here to open his eyes.

But sometimes the light is so bright, it hurts to see.

“Yeah well… it was, like, a mutual effort, okay?” Stan clutches the mug. It’s hot, but he holds on nonetheless. “So like, you didn’t do as much as you could’ve either. So don’t make it sound like this is all my fault. And whatever - okay, maybe I kinda shunned you out ‘cause maybe I couldn’t stand how nice you were being and like how you acted like everything was cool even though they fucking weren’t. You left. That’s the fact. You were the one who bailed on us. You could've just said something. To my face. Work it out with me. Like an adult. Why didn't you? Huh?”

“You didn't give me the chance, remember?” Gary smiles, soft and pitying. He moves back into his chair and looks at Stan with gentle eyes. “You're a great guy, Stan, but you have a lot of growing up to do.”

“Yeah, well... you're an asshole!”

“I hope this is the closure you were looking for.” Gary lowers his head and swallows a sigh. When he looks up again, he wears a smile Stan doesn’t deserve. “This was nice. I’m glad we were able to get a few things off our chest. I hope we can have a better talk next time. I, I’m going to get back on the road.”

Stan stiffens as Gary stands up with a good-bye nod. His legs won't listen to his command to get up. His brain refuses to let his mouth say what he really should say. He scowls at Gary weaving out of the coffeehouse until all he can see is the last strand of their relationship lying in ruins. He sandwiches his head between his palms, his fingers numb from the mug, and closes his eyes to shut the light out. The noises fades. His guts twist with sickness. His ribcage compresses. He spasms out of rhythm. The undertow of the conversation drags him into depthless despair.

“No… you're not,” Stan mumbles. “I'm the asshole.”

Stan stays for maybe five minutes or maybe two hours before his phone’s vibration yanks him out of the hole he’s been perfectly content rotting in. He stares at his screen and watches the 4 turns into a 5 to mark 9:05. He re-reads the text message a couple times before he registers what it wants from him.

Kenny asks, _everything ok?_

There are so many answers to that question, and all of them equate to a solid no. He glides his fingers over the keyboard and teeters between telling Kenny exactly what happened or falling back into the lie. It's tempting to yell at Kenny. To tell him how wrong he was. How big of a jerk Gary turns out to be. How talking to Gary absolutely did not make him feel any better nor did it un-fuck things up. But in the moment as his rant gets longer and less meaningful, he reels his emotions back in and backspaces until the blank white box waits for him to speak the truth.

And the truth? The truth is he doesn’t know. So that’s what he texts back to Kenny then slides his phone back into his pocket. It vibrates once then again. He doesn’t take it out to check Kenny’s response. Kenny will understand, anyway. 

Stan wraps his hands around the mug and finally sips the cooled tea. The sip turns into a gulp, until he downs the whole mug in one go. He wipes the corner of his mouth and waits for the tea to settle in. Another five minutes or maybe another two hours pass. He waits for the suffocation to relent. He waits and waits, and yet no relief comes. 

And he knows. Maybe sometimes, there is no relief. Maybe sometimes, he just has to live with the things he’s done.

* * *

It’s 4:17 when the conference room door opens. Jason comes out first. He shrugs at Scott, who’s mouthing “what the hell is going on” then glances at Stan as he beelines to his desk, where a box conveniently awaits. Kyle comes out next, perfect posture and stone-faced, and marches back to his office without pause. It’s a minute or two before Mackey appears at the doorway with a hand on Butters’ heaving shoulder.

Stan never thinks for a second it’s going to be easy, but it’s actually a lot harder than he could’ve expected. Jason’s nonplussed attitude is a godsend, but seeing Butters rubbing his tears away is a punch to the guts he couldn’t be ready for. Each sniffle is thunder to his ears. Each tear, a drop of acid corroding the belief that it is the way it has to be and he’s supposed to live with it. How is he supposed to live with the image of Butters crying in his memory? 

Mackey guides Butters to his desk then hustles over to Jason to shoo away Scott and Jimmy. Stan guesses they really aren't supposed to have a chance to say goodbye. Without Mackey guarding Butters, Kenny is the first to make it over. Then a reluctant Cartman joins them with a huff and a grunt. Bradley sneaks his way over and hovers around the outer edge of the three-man circle. 

Tweek, muttering and clutching his shirt, jolts out of his seat and rushes for the restroom. Craig hurries after him in constrained steps. Clyde and Token huddle around the copier, scanning the same paper over and over, and watch Jason pack under Mackey’s supervision. Jason mouths something to Scott and laughs without sound. Scott shifts, uneasy, and nods with a stilted smile. Mackey clears his throat, and Jason goes back to stuffing his box.

On the other side, Kenny has his hands on Butters’ shoulders. He ducks slightly so he can see Butters’ lowered face. He rubs Butters’ forearms and whispers comfort and encouragement. Then he pulls Butters into a loose hug. Butters cups his face with both hands and stifles his sobs. Cartman, with his arms crossed, glares at Butters like Butters ate his last bag of Cheesy Poofs. He doesn't say anything. Not verbally, anyway. Everything he wants to say is written in his furious gaze. Bradley half-heartedly puts Butters’ stuff into the box with one hand. The other strokes Butters’ back in a melancholic rhythm.

All the while, Stan stays in his cubicle. He’s standing and holding a file in one hand and moving the mouse around in the other to look busy. He alternates looking between Jason and Butters but doesn’t dare to get closer. Though he can’t see it, he feels the stares on him when the rest of the team isn’t focused on Butters and Jason.

“There is nothing to see, m’kay,” Mackey announces as he stomps over to Butters with Jason in tow. “Get back to work.” 

Kenny and Cartman scatter. Bradley puts a snow globe in the box then skitters back to his cubicle. Clyde brings the piece of paper back to his desk and brushes Stan with a cold glance. Token sits down and drums a pen against his thigh. Stan grabs the phone and misses the call that was ringing around the office by a second. He holds the receiver against his ear, using the dull dial tone to drown out Butters’ sniffles. He looks everywhere but in front of him and lands on the post-it note tacked on his cubicle wall. “Stay strong handsome,” Kenny once wrote him. Does Kenny have any idea how much easier it is to let go?

No one gets back to work as Mackey instructed. They all watch with bated breath and restless heart and waits for Butters to finishing packing. Butters carries his box in his arms and backs away from his desk. Jason makes his way to the doors, and Mackey has to trail after him, like he's afraid Jason will pull out a flamethrower from his pocket and sets the place on fire. With Mackey gone to wrangle Jason, Butters is left alone once again. He paces, restless and unsure, then comes toward Stan. 

Stan drops the receiver back in place. Butters’ swollen eyes and red nose are nails hammering him down to not move an inch. He doesn’t - can’t sit down. He stays standing and waiting until Butters enters his cubicle. 

“Hey, Stan,” Butters says after a sniffle, “I just wanna say thank you for takin’ care of me. It’s been real great. I had lots of fun and I learned a lot from y’all. I sure am gonna miss you.”

“Hey - uh, same, buddy.” Stan cringes. That doesn’t cover half of what he wants to say. There should be an apology somewhere in there but it’s stuck in his throat. “You gonna be okay, Butters?”

“Well, uh…” Butters shuffles his feet. “My parents are gonna be real sore with me but I think I'll be al’right. Kenny says I gotta hang onto the good things. The happy stuff. That's what I'm gonna take with me.”

“That's - great,” Stan says and wants it to be over. “That's really great. It was great having you. We had a great time too.”

Butters lowers his head and stares at his feet. He shifts the box in his arms; Stan imagines it must be getting pretty heavy. “Hey, Stan? Can I ask ya somethin’?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure, what is it?”

“Well, it’s just that… Mr. Mackey and Kyle won’t say nothin’ but I just wanna know… Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

Stan presses his lips into a line and takes a shaky breath. He reins in his ribcage and shakes his head. He pats Butters on the forearm and tries to smile, but his muscles won't listen. The smile comes out as a grimace and his voice hitches. “No, Butters. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were awesome. Best intern ever. It’s not gonna be the same without you.”

Butters lights up and smiles - actually smiles, and it’s flaying Stan alive. “Boy, am I glad to hear ya say that. Here I thought I done somethin’ bad and I was gettin’ punished for it. I don’t feel so bad no more.”

“It’s not a punishment.” Stan licks his lip and squeezes Butters’ forearm. “You were great, I promise. It’s just - It’s time for you to find greener pasture, you know. Move on to bigger things. You don’t wanna make coffee and do our laundry forever, do you?”

Butters shrugs to wipe his nose. “Well… no… but it wouldn’t bother me none. I liked helpin’ you fellas.” 

“Butters. Butters,” Mackey calls from the front door, “get over here, m’kay.”

Butters hugs the box against his chest and smiles at the rest of the office. “Well… good bye, fellas… I sure hope we can see each other soon again.”

Stan sinks into the chair and wishes it will swallow him whole. He plants his elbow on the armrest and vise-grips his fingers to his forehead. Nothing can ease the guilt eating away his brain and the rush of vomit threatening to erupt.

Butters stop by the receptionist desk and hands Kenny his Hawaiian edition Hello Kitty plush. Kenny leans over the desk, almost knocking over the candy bowl, and pull Butters in to kiss him on the lips. Butters loses his grip on the box and fidgets as he kneels down to pick it up with the help of an equally flustered Mackey. Then at last, Mackey escorts Butters out of the office and comes back in a little after 4:30 and heads right upstairs.

A stillness takes over the first floor then explodes in dissonance as the team deals with the aftermath.

Cartman stands up with his phone in his hands. “All right you guys, get on Twitter. We're changing our hashtag to Stan is a liar. Nice going, Stan, by the way. Really solid work. I especially liked the part where you told Butters to find greener pasture. That was really textbook of you. Did you think of that, or did Kyle give you a cue card beforehand?”

Token heads toward the restroom as he says, “I'm going to check on Tweek and Craig.” 

Jimmy asks from down the row, “Yeah, S-S-Stan, what happened to not letting anyone get fired?” 

“I told you guys, didn’t I? I told you the Jew is gonna ruin our lives,” Cartman says. “But nooo, you guys believed Stan over me. Look what happened now.”

“You guys need to understand, okay? It isn’t personal.” Stan tries to defend but his heart isn’t in it. “Let’s be honest, okay, we all knew the company isn’t doing so great and the market’s down. Even when they said it was supposed to pick up, it didn’t so we just have to make some changes, okay? It has nothing to do with Kyle or me. It is what---”

“It is what it is,” Clyde cuts in from his cubicle. “Right, Stan?”

“I didn’t want this,” Stan whispers. If anyone heard him, no one cares to listen.

Bradley comes over to Cartman’s desk with his phone. “I know our company is called Hell on Earth but firing people on New Year’s Eve is really mean...”

“Seriously. You might as well as have spit on their balls.” Cartman glances up from his screen. “Hey, you guys aren't tweeting. I wanna get this trending in the top five.”

“I can’t log onto Twitter,” Scott says from his desk. “It says it’s blocked.”

Cartman rolls his eyes and keeps texting away on his phone. “Goddamn it, Scott… Not on the computer, you sack of shit! Use your phone!”

“Oh.” After a pause, Scott adds, “I don’t have Twitter on my phone.”

“You don’t have Twitter - Are you a fucking caveman!?” Cartman pitches his voice an octave higher and mimics, “I’m Scott Malkinson. I have diabetes and no Twitter on my phone because I’m a waste of space.”

“Okay geez, what’s so bad about not having Twitter?” Scott mumbles, taking out his phone. “Is the app free?”

“Cartman, you s-s-spelled liar wrong,” Jimmy calls out. “You’re hashtagging S-S-Stan is a lair.”

Cartman groans and slams his fingers at his phone. “Goddamm stupid auto-correct!”

“Are you supposed to be working?” Kyle asks, his voice cutting through the cacophony. “The last time I checked, you’re still on the clock.” He stands at his doorway, scanning each of his remaining team members until a gloomy silence retakes the office. He retreats back in and closes his door again.

“What an asshole,” Cartman mumbles from his cubicle. “Hashtag Kyle can suck my salty balls.”

“Wait… I’m lost,” Scott whispers at Bradley loud enough for everyone to hear. “Are we tweeting about Stan or Kyle?”

Stan gets up from his desk. At the opposite end of the floor, the restroom door opens. Craig and Token come out with Tweek behind them. With tousled hair that he was clearly pulling and redden lip that he might have been chewing on, Tweek looks far more devastated than both Butters and Jason combined. Craig waits until Tweek sits down before he tracks over to his own desk. He gives Stan a glance. Sharp blue eyes cut through Stan like knives, and Stan has to look down until he feels the chill crawling up his spine passes. 

Stan opens his drawer for his pack of cigarette. With the smokes tucked in his pocket, he slips out and trots up to the roof. The cigarette is in his mouth before he pushes open the fire escape door. The December weather slaps him flat in the face, but it’s not a breath of fresh air he wants. There is no wind but it takes two tries before the lighter grants him access to sweet nicotine.

He leans onto the railing, ignoring the inches of snow his elbows are crushing onto. He draws long, deep huffs, nearly inhaling the whole smoke in one go if that’s possible. His fingers itch. His nerves are on high alert underneath every inch of his skin. He clasps the cigarette between taut lips, sucking and sucking, hoping and hoping to find some release. He coughs. A splutter of smoke ascends then vanishes. 

The door behind him creaks open then closes with a muffled groan. Lazy footfalls crunch the snow with worn-out boots. Kenny crouches down and presses his back to the railing. Speckles of white stand out in sharp contrast against his muted orange parka and sunlight blond hair.

“You clocked out?” Kenny asks. The tease is in his words, but not his voice. “Don’t wanna get in trouble with the boss.”

“I’m taking my 10,” Stan says, his words jumbled with the smoke between his lips.

“You’re getting off in 20.” Tilting his head up, Kenny asks, “You okay?”

Stan sucks in another long huff then snuffs the half-burnt cigarette in the snow. He chews his lip and shuffles his weight between his legs. He fixes his eyes ahead and stares at the snow-covered town. He used to think the blanket of endless white is soothing and beautiful, but now he sees how ugly it is. It’s not pure. It’s not romantic. It smothers everything under its illusion.

“I also came in 15 minutes early today so I’d call it even,” Stan says, changing the interlacing of his fingers on repeat to ward off the cold.

Kenny knocks his hand into Stan’s calf. “You didn’t answer me. You okay?”

Stan sputters a laugh and shakes his head with a terse smile. He stares down at his hands. Not that the sight of them is any more comforting than the view of his hometown. “No, man. No, I’m not fucking okay.”

Kenny straightens up with a grunt and drapes an arm around Stan’s shoulder. He holds Stan against his side. “I’m gonna take a wild guess and say it didn’t go well with Gary.”

“Ding ding. Ten points for Kenny McCormick for guessing the obvious!” 

Kenny turns as much as he can with his arm still on Stan’s shoulder. “You gonna tell me what happened or should I hunt that guy down and ask him myself?”

Stan drops his head and pinches his nose bridge. He’s going to have to tell Kenny sooner or later, and maybe it’ll help to let it out. “... Do you think I’m complacent?”

“Yes.”

“Dude! Can’t you - sugarcoat it a little or something?”

“You asked ‘cause you already know the answer,” Kenny says with a shrug. “He told you you’re complacent?”

Stan nods. “He said it didn’t work ‘cause I didn’t want it to. I wanted it to go bad ‘cause that’s what I expected. He said I didn’t want to change things about my life.”

“Do you think so?”

Stan purses his lips and delays the answer. He already knows it. Hell, he’s known it for a long time. It just takes someone saying it to his face for him to finally accept it. “Yeah.”

Kenny squeezes him and says, “So what are you gonna do about it?”

“Hell if I know.” Stan slumps forward until his chest leans over the railing. He can fall to the ground if he shifts his weight a little more. Luckily, Kenny’s hand is wrapped around his waist and anchoring him in place. “My whole problem is I don’t do jackshit about my life.”

“It’s okay to have flaws, dude. It means you got something you can work on,” Kenny says, his fingers coyly massaging Stan’s abs. “And it’s okay to feel lost and like shit. Work through your stuff at your own pace. It’s not a damn competition. You don’t gotta feel like you have to fix yourself. You’re ready when you’re ready, Stan.”

“What if I don’t ever get to that point?” Stan bows his head and stares directly at the white ground beneath them. “What if I just give up? Like I always do and accept that this is it? I’m where I’m now because I fucking did it to myself.”

Kenny exhales, not judging and not losing patience. He slides his hand up from Stan’s waist to Stan’s shoulder. He pulls in toward Stan until he can rest his forehead against the side of Stan’s head. His voice envelops Stan in a melting softness. “Even if this is it, even if this is all you can be, you still deserve the world. I know what you’re thinking and trust me, Stan, you are not a bad person. Just because you can’t get yourself to where you think you should be doesn’t mean you failed. It just means there is somewhere else you belong. You’re gonna find it and when you do, you’re gonna know all of this - everything you went through, it’s all just part of the journey. It’s like that thing you said… it’s what’s gonna make you _you_.”

Stan turns. He hasn’t realized how closely Kenny is standing to him until their foreheads and the tips of their noses brush. He casts his gaze down, catching the blurred fan of Kenny’s eyelashes. He parts his lips. There is something he wants to say but his tongue and mouth won’t cooperate together to form words.

Kenny’s hands find Stan’s elbows. With their close proximity, he speaks barely above a whisper. “Stan, you aren’t perfect but you’re fine and you’re definitely gonna be okay.”

“... Thanks,” Stan says and it doesn’t feel like enough. It’s easier to change the subject than to confront that longing gaze Kenny gives him. “Hey, about Butters? I wanted to tell you last night. But then… you know.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. I heard they were cutting people,” Kenny says, drawing away finally to re-establish some distance between them. “I didn’t know it was gonna be you guys though. Thought it was gonna be Purchasing.”

“Huh… I kinda expected you knew already.” Stan raises his brow. “You usually know everything.”

“Yeah, usually.” Kenny glances briefly at the door, as if expecting someone to be there. “Someone really didn’t want me to find out.”

“Well, Kyle said it was supposed to be confidential, so… I guess no one was supposed to know.” Stan shifts his weight, slowly connecting some loose dots to form a vague picture.

“Yeah, I guess not.” Kenny pushes his muscles up to form a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yo, I think our 10 is up. Better get back inside before the bosses start checking our timesheet.”

“Aww man, we’re gonna be so fucked,” Stan groans. “They’ll know we haven’t clocked out for lunch in, like, a year.”

“What are you worried about? You’re on salary. You don’t gotta clock out,” Kenny points out as he holds the door open. “I’m the one who’s gonna be screwed. And not in the way I like.”

Stan ambers down the stairs. “Still, you know, you’re supposed to.”

“Ah fuck what you’re supposed to do. Just do what feels right,” Kenny says with a wink as he moseys down the last steps and heads back to his desk.

Stan lingers at the bottom steps. It’s 4:52 on New Year’s Eve when a tendril of something dark curls up and settles in his stomach. Do what feels right, Kenny said so easily. Does he know there isn’t always a right thing to do?


End file.
